


Trembling on the Edge

by dk323



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Apocalypse, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-09
Updated: 2011-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:34:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dk323/pseuds/dk323
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(For story overall) As darkness descends, six people come together to save the world. Nothing will ever be the same again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Warning

Title: Trembling on the Edge  
 **Author:** dk323  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Word Count:** ~4,431  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Merlin/Arthur (eventual), Will Stanton, Bran Davies, Lancelot/Gwen  
 **Disclaimer:** The show Merlin is property of the BBC. The Dark Is Rising book series is property of Susan Cooper. Some elements inspired by the 2010 film, “Never Let Me Go.”  
 **Summary:** Merlin is just a university student. He’s not some incarnation of a mythical sorcerer. But he soon discovers that some myths are _real_ …  
   
As dark trouble stirs and Merlin’s world is in danger from an insidious threat, will the one thing that makes Merlin that magical legend return to him? Especially when he needs it the most?

~ * ~   
   
Merlin almost glared at the somewhat shifty looking man who shoved the paper into his hands.  
   
“What is this about?” Merlin demanded to know.  
   
Looking at the paper, he only saw a picture of what looked like a 13-year old child. The boy seemed rather unremarkable. He had light brown hair, a forelock of it just getting into his blue-grey eyes, and a round average looking face. There was a hint of a solemn expression that Merlin thought strange somehow on a boy so young, but the thought was fleeting on his part.  
   
The words on the paper were:  
   
 _Most Wanted: Will Stanton_  
 _Beware: He is dangerous when provoked._  
   
“The boy’s dangerous,” the man said gruffly. “Better watch for him.”  
   
Merlin stared at him, then at the paper in his hand. He frowned and said firmly, “This is ridiculous. Obviously anyone would put up a fight if they’re provoked. Go find someone else to bother,” Merlin told the man.  
   
And then he crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the nearest trash bin. Making sure his message got across, Merlin shoved past the man. He didn’t even glance back when the man started shouting at him, telling him that Merlin would be sorry for not taking the warning to heart.  
   
But really, Merlin thought that the stranger had to be a mad man. A boy like that? How could _he_ be dangerous?  
   
Well, that was the last time he took the long way back to his flat from uni if that was what he had to deal with.  
   
He walked more quickly now, to avoid being stopped by someone else, but what he saw appearing on the shop windows drew his attention. It was the same notice that the stranger had handed him.  
   
What was odder still was that the notices weren’t being put up anyone. They just suddenly appeared, outside of each shop, as if they were being taped on magically.  
   
Merlin thought it was ironically poetic that he was witnessing some strange magic unfold before his eyes. Growing up, most everyone teased him on his somewhat unfortunate name.  
   
Though his mum had always told him she had named him after the Merlin falcon, the bird she was most fond of. Merlin sobered as he remembered his mother. She had been killed in a car accident almost two years ago. Merlin still found it hard to think about, losing his mum so suddenly and horribly like that.  
   
A mysterious uncle named Stephen, who was his father’s younger brother, had contacted him not long after his mother’s death. Merlin communicated with his uncle through letters and by phone. He had assured Merlin any financial support he would need to live comfortably. While his mum had supported him well enough with her modest salary from her office job, she could only do so much raising him on a single income.  
   
Merlin’s father had disappeared, or at least that’s what his mother had told him, when Merlin was very young. He figured that had to be the truth because his mum had been honest. She would’ve never lied to him. Especially if it involved family.  
   
Even this uncle who had seemingly come out of the blue stuck to that story. So Merlin had believed it. Even if he wished he could find out why his father had disappeared, Merlin was grateful at least that his father hadn’t run out on his mother and him.  
   
It was clear once Merlin had seen the money coming into his bank account that the previously unheard of uncle was a wealthy one too. Though that didn’t stop Merlin from continuing his job at the bookstore he worked at. He enjoyed it at the shop too much to quit.  
   
Besides the “Most Wanted” notice, Merlin was puzzled by the other notice about organ donation. The words on the notice said that you should donate your organs for the good of humanity.   
   
Something compelled him to stare harder at one of the donation notices. He drew back a breath when he saw the words on the page shift around and the message changed.  
   
He now read:  
   
 _The Dark is rising._  
   
 _Be careful, Merlin._  
   
Upon reading that, Merlin was seized with a sudden fear, of what he wasn’t sure. But he just felt, deep down in his gut, that something was very, very wrong.  
   
He grew increasingly anxious when several people directed their gazes toward him, the early evening leaving them half in shadow, half lit by the street lamps. The effect was downright eerie. Merlin felt like there was a bull’s eye on him.  
   
That left him more grateful than ever when he heard Lancelot’s voice.  
   
“Hey Merlin, get in. I’ll give you a ride,” Lancelot offered from his car.  
   
Relief swept through Merlin as he gratefully climbed into the front passenger’s side.  
   
“Thanks, Lancelot,” he said honestly.  
   
“No problem,” Lancelot said amicably as he pressed the gas and resumed driving the car down the street.  
   
Then Merlin got a good look at Lancelot’s face. He looked a bit pale and he appeared worried as well.  
   
“What’s wrong?” Merlin asked him, concerned for his friend.  
   
“Gwen’s missing,” Lancelot confided in him. “But it’s odd because I get this feeling that she’s all right, but still…I wish I knew _where_ she was,” he told Merlin earnestly.  
   
“Oh no. I’m sorry to hear that,” Merlin said sympathetically. “When did you know she was gone?”  
   
“I woke up this morning like usual…and her side of the bed was empty. I checked our flat, and she wasn’t anywhere to be found. It’s not like her, you know that, Merlin. She would at least tell me or leave me a note that she was leaving. But there was nothing. I called her work and everything. No one has heard from her.”  
   
While Lancelot had finished university a year ago and was currently out in the work world, Gwen was working part-time together with attending the same university Merlin went to. Gwen was scheduled to work that particular day, and Merlin knew she had an evening class tonight as well.  
   
Merlin knew how much Lancelot cared for Gwen. Merlin had been friends with Lancelot since Sixth Form – Merlin had been in his first year while Lancelot was in his second and final year. As such, Lancelot had been a mentor of sorts to Merlin and the pair had become good friends.  
   
When Lancelot met Gwen in his first year at uni, Merlin could easily say that it had been love at first sight for one of his closest friends and the girl who he became fast friends with. It was hard not to like Gwen what with her warm and caring nature. Merlin always enjoyed talking with her. He was just as upset as Lancelot that she had inexplicably gone missing. Especially now after the weird notices and the warning message about the Dark rising.  
   
Under these unnerving circumstances, there really couldn’t be worse time for Gwen to disappear as well.  
   
Lancelot sighed as he turned into another street. “There’s something else too. You know Arthur? The friend who got me a job at his father’s company. Good man.”  
   
“Hmmm, yeah,” Merlin said somewhat dismissively. “My life would be complete if I’d meet a man named Arthur,” he commented drily.  
   
Arthur was almost three years older than Merlin. Lancelot had been friends with Arthur since they were children. While Arthur went to more posh schools when he was older since his family was notably wealthy, he still maintained his friendship with Lancelot.  
   
Merlin had never met Arthur, which Lancelot and Gwen always teased him about. Because how funny would it be for a Merlin and Arthur to meet? Especially someone who was like a blond god that Arthur was, Gwen had cajoled him.  
   
She had been considerably drunk at that point, and Lancelot had only laughed good-naturedly. He was assured enough in his relationship with Gwen not to be threatened by her finding another man attractive. After all, Lancelot had said that Gwen did speak the truth after all. Merlin had been defiant and firmly reminded them that he had been named after _a bird_ , not the sorcerer who had been advisor to King Arthur. And that was all a myth, a fictional legend anyway.  
   
Unfortunately his arguments always seemed to fall on deaf ears.  
   
“His name is Arthur _Pendragon_ …” Lancelot pointed out. “And I have it in confidence that you’re his type. He _is_ interested in meeting you.”  
   
“I’ll just die a lonely, old man, thanks,” Merlin shot it down automatically, but inside, he couldn’t completely suppress his desire to finally meet this Arthur.  
   
Then he heard himself speaking inside his own head. They were words he couldn’t quite recall himself saying before. It was like an echo of something half-forgotten. “We’re stronger together, Arthur,” he heard inside his head.  
   
Merlin shook it off. It was probably nothing.  
   
“Are you all right, Merlin?” Lancelot asked him.  
   
“I’m fine. What is it about Arthur?” Merlin returned to the topic at hand.  
   
“Oh right. Arthur was behaving oddly at work today. There were these pebbles that some person started placing everywhere in the building. I personally have never seen the man before. He was really thin, with a bit of a rat face. Definitely looked like someone you’d want to avoid.”  
   
“Okay, so clearly the rat face man had a weird thing with pebbles…” Merlin ventured, puzzled.  
   
“I don’t think they were just pebbles. I tried to move one of them, but I couldn’t move it at all. It was like the pebble was permanently stuck to any surface it was on. And also, people started arguing with each other any time they were near a pebble. Arthur, well... He was the only one who was able to remove the pebbles. He spent the entire day taking the pebbles away and quelling any arguments people were having. Though the arguing usually stopped once Arthur had broken whatever hold the pebbles had on others.”  
   
Merlin was undoubtedly intrigued by this. What was going on? First the strange notices, the hidden warning message, people looking at him like he was a target, and now this Arthur apparently had begun displaying some kind of magical abilities.  
   
Lancelot shook his head then. “The most entertaining part, I suppose, is when Arthur called the rat face man – goodness knows why he was still hanging around the building – into his office. Arthur took the bag of pebbles he had collected and upturned the bag, so that all the pebbles fell on the mystery man’s head. He told the rat face man to “Fuck off,” in a very loud, commanding voice. Almost everyone heard it. Arthur didn’t quite sound like himself. But the message had been received and the rat face man ended up leaving the building in a hurry. Clearly Arthur had rattled him.”  
   
“Huh,” Merlin mused, biting his lip thoughtfully. “Did you speak to Arthur about what was going on with him?”  
   
Lancelot nodded. “Of course I did. He’s my best mate after all. He confided in me that he believed those pebbles were warestones. He wasn’t completely sure how he knew that and he wasn’t sure how he could break their power. But he knew that the warestones were the reason why people engaged in arguments with one another. And Arthur knew that he had to stop the conflict. He also told me that he felt like he had been possessed…by _himself_ …whatever that means, for most of the day. But when I spoke to him, he seemed okay. Like the Arthur I knew. So if he had been possessed, then it had only been a temporary thing.”  
   
“How can you be possessed by _yourself_?” Merlin asked, confused. “Are you sure you heard him right?”  
   
Lancelot looked as puzzled as Merlin was. “I don’t know. It’s not like Arthur is a fountain of knowledge on possession, but he said that whatever spirit was inside of him felt wholly familiar. It didn’t quite feel like a foreign entity that was invading his body, it was more like a kindred spirit.”  
   
Merlin slumped down in his seat. “Another bit of strangeness to add to my day,” he remarked idly. “Did you see the notices? The one about that boy, Will Stanton? And the one about organ donation? I saw a message in the latter one. Like a hidden message. It said, “The Dark is rising. Be careful, Merlin.” I have no idea who wrote it.”  
   
“I saw both of them. I didn’t get that hidden message you saw. But you know what I think?” Lancelot ventured.  
   
“Yeah, what?”  
   
“I think Will’s one of the good guys and that something big and unpleasant is coming. So I’d like to believe someone has a clue as to what’s going on.”  
   
“I’m inclined to say the same thing. A shifty looking man handed me the flyer on the boy. If I had to choose, I’d go for the boy instead of some man who looks like he’s in a shady business.”  
   
“Good choice,” Lancelot agreed. “Arthur thinks the apocalypse is coming. Again, he’s not sure why. Today was just a whole day of weird on Arthur’s front. He also thought that boy, Will Stanton, looked old.”  
   
“I sort of thought the same thing,” Merlin mused. “He had a look on his face that didn’t seem to fit on someone his age…”  
   
“You see, you _should_ meet Arthur. Both of you had a bit of a strange day. Must mean something,” Lancelot quipped.  
   
Merlin rolled his eyes, but he declined to comment.  
   
Shortly after, Lancelot reached Merlin’s flat. Merlin thanked Lancelot for the ride and offered to help in any way he could in finding out where Gwen was.  
  
 **One week later:**  
  
Merlin hadn’t heard from Lancelot for a few days. The last time he had seen him was when Lancelot had given him a ride that one bizarre evening the previous week.  
   
His Uncle Stephen had been calling more frequently now, at least three times a day. He kept asking Merlin if he was all right and warned him to be vigilant. Then his uncle said something strange…it sounded like he was more reassuring himself than speaking to Merlin, but he had told Merlin, “It should be fine. They shouldn’t be able to get to you. It should be fine. Don’t worry.”  
   
The strangeness of his uncle’s words only left Merlin all the more confused. What was going on?  
   
And then there was the organ donation table at his university. For some reason, all the professors were pushing students to go to fill out the organ donation form. It would save the lives of sick individuals after all.  
   
But Merlin had felt an unpleasant feeling whenever he was near the table. Something in his mind told him that it was a bad idea to fill out the form. So he went with his instincts and avoided filling it out.  
   
One of the people advertising the organ donations came up to him once though. The woman insisted he sign up for it. It was the right thing to do. His friend Freya had been with him then. Merlin had blown off the older woman by saying that his name was Merlin, so his organs were very magical, and therefore priceless. So he was terribly sorry, but he couldn’t spare any of his organs. He was quite attached to them. Freya had laughed at his joke, but she did take the form that the woman had given her.  
   
Later, Merlin had tried to convince her not to go through with this organ donation programme, that something was just not right about it.  
   
Freya got a weird look in her brown eyes and she shook her head. She didn’t listen to him and said that she simply had to participate. It was a positive cause, to save the lives of others.  
   
Unsure what to do, Merlin decided to call his Uncle Stephen and tell him about his concerns. He just felt that his uncle was the right person to turn to. Ever since Merlin had been in contact with him, Merlin had this sense that his uncle was a part of something bigger, that he knew things that others weren't aware of. His uncle immediately offered to help and he had sent someone to take Freya. The last Merlin heard is that his uncle hoped to protect his friend and make sure she was rid of her need to participate in the organ donation programme.  
   
Merlin grew increasingly alarmed when it seemed like a majority of the students at his university were filling out the organ donation forms. A lot of people were also looking at him in accusation, like everyone knew that he hadn’t filled out the organ donation form.  
   
Merlin was half-worried someone would attack him, the accusing looks sent him that far on edge.  
   
The only reprieve, if you could call it that, was the dreams he had at night. Arthur was in them. He had only seen pictures of him, but in the dreams, Merlin felt like he knew the blond man intimately.  
   
As if the strangeness of the last few days couldn’t get any stranger, Merlin now had to contend with having sex dreams with a man he hadn’t met.  
   
But he was slowly resigning himself to the fact that maybe he did know Arthur in some sense…once, long ago.  
   
Maybe reincarnation really did happen… because otherwise, Merlin couldn’t explain why he was dreaming about Arthur in this way.  
   
One evening, Merlin was taking the short way home – not wanting to meet another shifty looking man, thank you very much – and that’s when things took a very interesting turn.  
   
He saw the boy, Will Stanton, from the notices in the flesh.  
   
And a man was holding a knife to the boy’s throat, a trickle of blood coming down as the knife had broken the skin.  
   
Of course, Merlin had to intervene. It was the right thing to do. He entered the alleyway that the man and the boy were in.  
   
“Let him go,” Merlin ordered the man.  
   
“You have no idea who this boy is. He and his little friend are playing a child’s game. And they’re going to lose. You should go home,” the man told him firmly.  
   
Merlin saw how scared the boy looked. The man had a solid grip on him; both of the boy’s hands were restrained behind him.  
   
“No. I’m not leaving until you let him go,” Merlin said, standing his ground.  
   
The man laughed cruelly. He moved the knife to the boy’s face and the weapon’s sharp tip drew a line of blood on his cheek. “Oh please. The boy’s immortal. He’s in no danger,” the man assured him, then he spoke to the boy, “Your masters have all gone, Old One…you’re going to _lose_. This isn’t even your reality! Why don’t you just leave us this reality and you could go back home and stop getting into our business.”  
   
“I can’t do that,” the boy said quietly.  
   
“Let’s see how long it’ll take you to come back to life,” the man said in amusement.  
   
As the man positioned the knife to cut the boy’s throat, Merlin heard a roar in his ears like something was rushing back inside of him.  
   
Suddenly, inexplicably, Time had stopped.  
   
And Merlin was sure that he was the one who did it. But even if he apparently had his magic back, or at least some of it – he had a feeling that not all of his magic had returned --, he still didn’t remember whatever he was supposed to remember.  
   
He knew he wouldn’t be too surprised if the memories he was missing had to do with him being King Arthur’s court sorcerer and advisor.  
   
Before he could throw the knife as far away as possible from the boy, Merlin felt himself being swept off the ground as a lilting, almost enchanting melody played.  
   
He was being transported somewhere.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Merlin found himself in a bedroom. He had landed on the bed. The walls in the bedroom were white and there was one big window on the wall to his right. A door was on his left. One big painting of what looked like Welsh hills was directly in front of the bed.  
   
Merlin took a closer look at the painting. It was beautiful. He thought it could be the Cader Idris, the Seat of Arthur. He had visited Wales a few times over the years, so he had felt he had a good grasp of the names of most of the mountains and hills. There was a note tacked on to the frame that said _, “I read your book on Welsh history. Only you, Bran. Max painted this. Hope you like it. – Will”_  
   
Merlin could only assume this was the same Will he had just seen. He hoped the boy was all right.  
   
Then the door opened and Merlin was startled when a boy Will’s age entered the room.  
   
The boy had to be albino because he was literally drained of all colour. He had white hair -- Merlin was sure that the hair hadn’t been bleached, but that it was _truly_ white – and his skin wasn’t just pale, it was very white as if bleached by the summer sun. He was slim, and wore a dark jumper and dark pants which, of course, accentuated his strangeness. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes.  
   
He was also carrying a clipboard.  
   
“Hello, my name is Bran. And you’re probably confused right now about how you ended up here,” Bran acknowledged. He spoke in a clear Welsh accent, giving Merlin good reason to believe the boy was from Wales. “Will’s better off at doing this sort of thing, but he’s a bit bloodied up now.”  
   
“He’ll be all right?” Merlin wanted to make sure.  
   
Bran nodded. “Yes, he’ll be fine. I wish he didn’t have to put himself in that position, but sometimes he refuses to listen to me. It’s going to get worse unfortunately,” he admitted sadly. “Your friends Lancelot and Gwen are here as well. They’re perfectly safe.”  
   
Merlin felt relieved at that. “Can I see them?”  
   
“Yes, in a little while. You’re in the Sanctuary now. You had better get comfortable because you’re not going to leave here for some time. Will says we can’t risk it. You’re at the heart of this.”  
   
“The man who threatened him said that Will was from another reality… what does that mean?”  
   
“There is your reality and then there is another reality…the one Will and I have come from. Will and I have had experience fighting the enemy your reality is currently contending with.”  
   
“And what enemy is that?”  
   
“The Dark, of course. You got Will’s message about the Dark rising? That’s them. As their name implies, they’re no good.”  
   
“Yes, I saw that message,” Merlin informed him.  
   
“I’m going to take off my glasses now. I need you to look directly into my eyes. I have to verify you truly are the right person. Just a formality, honestly,” Bran assured him.  
   
The pale boy took off his glasses and Merlin tried his best not to cry out in surprise at the odd colour of Bran’s eyes.  
   
They were a tawny golden colour, a shade more commonly seen in cats and birds, but Bran seemed to be far from a common person.  
   
A snatch of memory came to Merlin as he looked Bran in the eye.  
   
 _Arthur was speaking to him, his tone thoughtful. “You know, Merlin, when you do magic, your eyes are golden. Did you know that?”_  
   
Then the memory was gone.  
   
Bran nodded. He checked something off on the paper on his clipboard. “You’re the one.”  
   
“Are your eyes that colour all the time?” Merlin asked, feeling a bit dumb for asking that. Of course they had to be.  
   
“Unbelievable, I know, but yes they are. You’ll get used to them. My eyes are sensitive to light, so I usually wear dark glasses as a result.”  
   
“Who are you really? I’m guessing you’re Will’s friend… I saw the painting, but I think there’s something more to you.”  
   
Bran smiled secretly at him. “I love that you’re not even questioning the existence of two realities bit.”  
   
Merlin lay down on the bed, his arms behind his head. He sighed. “I don’t know. This whole thing doesn’t make sense, but somehow I believe it… but I think the two realities part of it isn’t all that crazy. I’m not sure why. But I definitely have a feeling that something bad is happening in my reality or whatever, and if there’s anything I can do to help, I want to do it.”  
   
“That’s good then. We need your help to save your reality. You, me, Will, Lancelot, Gwen, and Arthur…”  
   
“Arthur?" Merlin asked with undisguised interest. "Is he here? I haven’t met him yet.”  
   
Bran shook his head. “No. He’s the last of the Six. We still need to bring him here,” he told Merlin.   
   
~ * ~  
   
 “My Lord, the Old One has five of the Six. He is doing better than expected.”  
   
“He still needs to get the last one,” the Lord of the Dark acknowledged, appearing pleased at the shot of ruining his opponent’s plan. “And I know just how to prevent him from getting that incarnation of King Arthur,” the man said determinedly.  
   
“How will you do that?”  
   
“I’m going to shut and lock the door, so to speak. Will Stanton and the other four will be confined to his little conjured Sanctuary outside Time. And Arthur Pendragon will remain in his reality.”  
   
“While we carry out our plan in his reality,” the other man established.  
   
The Lord smiled wickedly. “And if we gain a victory in this reality, then it’s only a matter of time that we can have another go in the reality we were so rudely banished out of. It should go smoothly, I’m sure,” he said confidently.  
   
“But, My Lord, the albino boy. He’s the Pendragon. He’s with the Old One. If they’re together again, and the boy has been reawakened into his powers--”  
   
“Do I look like a fool to you?” He yelled at the man in irritation. “Do not tell me things like I don’t know them! I am aware of the situation and your doubt gives me great displeasure. Leave me _now.”_  
   
“But…” the man ventured again.  
   
The Lord gave him a dark look. Wisely, the man left.   
   
~ * ~


	2. The Once and Future King Returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his memories now returned, Arthur is beginning to see his world in a different light. But he may be biting off more than he can chew...

**Chapter 2:** _The Once and Future King Returns_ (~8,399 words for this part)  
   
Summary: With his memories now returned, Arthur is beginning to see his world in a different light. But he may be biting off more than he can chew...  
   
Merlin finds out more about the Dark and the Old Ones of the Light, and Bran reveals who he really is. It leaves Merlin unsurprised at Bran’s involvement in the current apocalypse.  
   
Will finds himself in trouble. Who killed him?   
   
~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~   
   
“Merlin,” was the first word Arthur uttered when he woke up that day.  
   
He remembered now. He had been reborn. His former life at Camelot: growing up there, his time with Merlin when he was prince, and later, Merlin advising him during his days as king all came back to him like a blank book suddenly filled with his autobiography.  
   
Despite being understandably overwhelmed as the rush of memories caused him to almost forget where and _when_ he was, Arthur felt more complete than he ever had been before.  
   
Unfortunately, he still wasn’t sure who had possessed him that day at work a week ago now. Though he had confided in Lancelot that he’d believed that he had been possessed by himself, Arthur wasn’t confident himself about that conclusion. What did that even mean anyway? He thought that maybe it had been a past life of his, but now remembering his former life, Arthur shot down that idea. It couldn’t have been his past self.  
   
Whoever had been inside him felt familiar, but not _that_ familiar. Not to mention Arthur had never encountered warestones back in Camelot or in his current life prior to that day at work. Or he never particularly had a penchant for premonitions like the one about believing the apocalypse was coming.  
   
Of course now, well, Arthur would have to concede that his foresight may be very possibly true. He could feel even now that something was just not right. He was positive he wasn’t under possession at the moment either. So apparently he had developed an extra awareness of the situation around him. Maybe it was a side effect of remembering his former life?  
   
He went to take a shower. As the cold spray hit him, Arthur wondered why he heard a sound like a door closing and then a lock clicking, shutting the door in what felt like a very permanent way.  
   
The sound of it was so loud, that Arthur wasn’t sure where it could be coming from. It certainly hadn’t been the bathroom door. And he was the only one in the house. He also felt that something was not right. That this door closing shouldn’t be allowed to happen under any circumstances. An inexplicable realization hit him that he may never see Merlin again… that Merlin was far away from him, and with the locked door blocking the path, he would never get to meet his closest confidante’s current incarnation.  
   
Arthur dearly wished that he had met that Merlin who was Lancelot’s friend. He knew without a doubt that the man had to be Merlin’s incarnation. It wasn’t just because of his name, okay well, yes a little bit, but Arthur had sensed an affinity with the man when Lancelot had shown him a picture of Merlin. Anyway, a Merlin who was friends with a Lancelot and Gwen? Clearly, that all didn’t amount to a coincidence. Why Arthur hadn’t remembered sooner considering he was best mates with a Lancelot, he didn’t know.  
   
It was all rather ridiculous when all these coincidences were right in front of you, and you just don’t pay too much attention to them.  
   
He hated this feeling of separation. He could barely get any relief from his cold shower as his mind started to worry about being alone for the rest of his life. That he’d never be able to spend the rest of his life with Merlin as they were meant to.  
   
Arthur mused that Merlin most likely hadn’t remembered his past life if he hadn’t made contact with Arthur already. Surely if Merlin had properly remembered Camelot and Arthur, he would have made the extra effort to meet Arthur?  
   
Arthur thought Merlin would be the one to remember first because of his magic, but apparently magic wasn’t a factor in this case.  
   
But then, what did he know? He wasn’t knowledgeable of how things worked with reincarnation anyway. It was all just assumptions for now. Arthur absentmindedly got dressed as he continued to consider and reflect on the memories he had just regained.  
   
As he descended the stairs, Arthur looked up. He groaned.  
   
There were flyers for the blasted organ donations taped all over his walls, even some were on the _ceiling_ of all places. He just knew something was not right about them. Maybe, at another time, he would have taken part in the programme. But now, Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling that something devious was at play with the current organ donation business.  
   
Glaring at the offending pieces of paper, he removed every one of them from the walls and even from the ceiling as well.  
   
Grimly, Arthur tossed all the papers into the fireplace, the fire burning each paper, the paper crinkling as each sheet caught a flame and the white darkened into black. All the flyers disintegrated into ash under Arthur’s frustrated gaze.  
   
In the kitchen, he made himself some breakfast with a strong cup of tea. He decided that it’d be a good idea to call Morgana. She was his adopted sister in this life; no blood relation like it had been back in Camelot where she had been his half-sister. What if she had remembered her past life at Camelot?  
   
Then Arthur unpleasantly recalled that Morgana had been into dark magic, and they had a big falling out back in the days of Camelot. So maybe it would be better if she hadn’t remembered her days as a dark sorceress, longtime adversary to him and Merlin…  
   
With a sigh, he called her on his mobile.  
   
“Morgana? It’s me, Arthur,” he started.  
   
“What is it?”  
   
“Are you all right?”  
   
“Of course I am. I’m feeling lovely actually. I’m going to take part in the programme.”  
   
“Wait, you mean the organ donations? Morgana, I think there’s--”  
   
But Morgana cut him off. She said breezily, “I talked to this Mr. Mitothin. He explained it all to me. It’s a _very_ good cause, Arthur.”  
   
Arthur hummed non-committally at her, focused on writing down, ‘Mr. Mitothin – needs to be checked out’ on the half sheet he had in front of him.  
   
“Listen, Morgana… I don’t think you should go through with it. I have this bad feeling. Something’s not right about the programme.”  
   
“Oh, Arthur. You’re just worrying too much about nothing. Donating organs reminds me of those boarding schools. Remember them? Hailsham, Whitechapel and Haven Cove? For sick children who needed to get well? And they had the best teachers. One couldn’t want for a better education.”  
   
Arthur had heard of those three schools. He always thought they were schools for poor children because they were the ones more likely to get sick. Everything about the three schools was very secretive except for the exemplary health record, impressive education standards and the odd penchant for most of the students to be organ donors.  
   
Sometimes, Arthur had wondered what secret the schools were hiding because it all seemed too good to be true. But he had grown up as all children do. His focus shifted to excelling in his studies and extracurricular activities that he hadn’t had time to spare to think about those boarding schools anymore.  
   
“What’s your point, Morgana?” Arthur asked her, his tone impatient.  
   
“Gwen told me that Merlin told her that he might have gone to one of those schools. But somehow he got out of it. They were really gunning for him.”  
   
“But Merlin wasn’t a sick child, was he?”  
   
“No, I don’t think so, at least going by what Gwen told me. He and his mum weren’t exactly well off, Arthur. Merlin’s mother was almost convinced that this was the right thing for him. To get that education that might give him the extra advantage later on when going for university… but well, neither Gwen or Merlin know what convinced his mother in the end to not go through with it. I personally think it’s that elusive uncle of his, Stephen, who dissuaded her. Do you know where he is, Arthur?”  
   
“Of course not.”  
   
“Because it’s important that you tell me if you do. He’s the enemy.”  
   
“Morgana…what are you on about?” Something inside him told him that it wasn’t the best idea to tell Morgana about Gwen, Lancelot and Merlin having gone missing. He didn’t feel like he could fully trust her now.  
   
“Arthur, I don’t want you to lie to me. Merlin’s uncle will kill you. He is dangerous.”  
   
Merlin’s words from long ago echoed in Arthur’s head: _“You have to accept that Morgana is not the sister you once knew, Arthur. I am sorry to tell you that, but it’s true. I’m sorry.”_  
   
“I have to go, Morgana,” Arthur said quickly.  
   
“Arthur--”  
   
He ended the call.  
   
~ * ~  
   
He was unnerved at seeing one of his friends, Gwaine, at the hospital especially now when Arthur’s ‘something’s terribly wrong’ sense was in overdrive.  
   
Elena, Gwaine’s girlfriend, had called Arthur and started talking about the organ donation programme. How Gwaine was taking part in it, his surgery had been the day before. She herself had been selected into the ‘Carer programme’, which relieved Arthur. Being a Carer meant that Elena wouldn’t have to undergo any of the organ removal surgeries for some years. Instead, Elena would help to look after those who were donating their organs.  
   
When Arthur had asked, she had told him that she wasn’t too sure why she had been chosen as a Carer. She was more than fine with donating her organs, but if Mr. Mitothin insisted that she should be a Carer, then she would do it. Any argument Arthur made to her against the organ donations, that something was troubling about them, fell on deaf ears.  
   
And there was that name again: Mr. Mitothin…  
   
So of course, Arthur had to visit his friends at the hospital. Hopefully he could find Mr. Mitothin there as well.  
   
He counted on it.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Merlin sighed. “Okay then. Will he be coming here soon?”  
   
“Hopefully yes. Arthur’s the last one who needs to be here,” Bran informed him. “But first, I need to explain some things to you.”  
   
Bran sat down in the chair by the bed, setting the clipboard on the small table nearby.  
   
Merlin couldn’t help asking, “What exactly is the Dark? Is it like the devil then? And by elimination, you’re or all of us here are on the side of the Light?”  
   
“Yes, that’s a good way to put it,” Bran agreed. “Will explained it to me that all those who serve the Dark were once men who sought power. They favor corruption and manipulation to get that power. They all _chose_ to become what they are. The Lords of the Dark came to be in their position by choosing to become something far greater than others of the Dark. Those like Will, well…Will is not properly human. He was always meant to have his gift. It wasn’t a choice with him, but just something he is.  
   
“He’s an Old One of the Light. The Old Ones are immortals tasked with keeping the world safe from the Dark, to safeguard human choice while the forces of the Dark seek to manipulate and dominate humankind. Will can not “turn” to the Dark side, like some humans may be swayed because of normal human weakness. It is not in the nature of an Old One to go against the Light. Along that vein, they can’t control the minds of humans and they can’t directly harm a human being. The Old Ones prize human choice that much,” Bran finished with a small smile.  
   
“So they’re like angels? Guardian angels?” Merlin deduced.  
   
“I suppose so, but don’t tell Will that,” Bran advised him. “I think he’ll be a bit embarrassed by it. He’s not always in Old One mode, as it’s called I guess, he can still act human. So much so that you can’t tell that he’s much more than just a boy.”  
   
“I saw how scared he looked when that man had a knife on him. He seemed like a normal 13-year old who needed help,” Merlin mused.  
   
Bran’s expression darkened, clearly the subject matter of the attack on Will didn’t sit well with him. Merlin understood that feeling. He’d feel the same if Lancelot, Gwen or Freya had been in trouble and he hadn’t been there to help.  
   
“Yes, that’s what I mean,” Bran acknowledged. “You’ll recognize a difference when Will is acting as an Old One compared to just his human self. You can see it in his face and he may say things that sound far wiser than should be coming from a 13-year old.”  
   
“The ‘Most Wanted’ posters…” Merlin recalled the odd solemn expression on the picture of Will in those posters. “Now that all makes sense.”  
   
“So you know what I’m talking about. I really do think Will would be better at explaining himself, but--” Bran remarked, looking uncertain.  
   
“You’re doing fine,” Merlin was quick to reassure the younger boy.  
   
“All right,” Bran said, appearing grateful for the assurance. He continued on, “A year ago, Will and I together with others banished the Dark from our reality. After that victory for the Light and humanity too, Will was charged with being the Watchman of the Light while the other Old Ones retired outside Time.  
   
“Will is the youngest and the last of the Old Ones, though he was the first to be born in 500 years. The number of Old Ones had been growing for centuries before that time. He came into his powers, into his awareness and knowledge as an Old One when he was eleven, two years ago now.  
   
“Will told me that someone of the Light needs to stay behind,” Bran confided in him. “That it’s the only way to insure that the Dark doesn’t try their hand at domination again. No matter how lonely the task may be, to remain on Earth while the rest of your kind has left. And now, as you know, the Dark is hoping to gain a victory in your reality. That’s why Will and I are here.”  
   
“If they win, then the Dark might decide to return to your reality?” Merlin figured out.  
   
Bran shrugged, looking rather confident. “It would be difficult as they were _very_ properly banished from Will and mine’s reality,” he said proudly, with a hint of arrogance in his voice. “--but yes…they may think they’ll have another opportunity if they manage to win your reality,” he conceded. “But we won’t allow that to happen.”  
   
“No, we won’t,” Merlin agreed. “What do you need from me?”  
   
Bran gave him a look. “What do you think?”  
   
“Oh right. Yeah, that makes sense.”  
   
“For now, I can tell you that we need your magic at full strength. Only some of it has returned to you, right?”  
   
Merlin nodded.  
   
“Give it some time; it will all come back to you. Will and I have a plan worked out, and if all goes well, then the Dark will surely lose.”  
   
“I admit it’s strange…since the two of you are so--” Merlin paused, unsure how to say this without offending Bran.  
   
Bran’s striking golden eyes pierced Merlin’s blue ones, leaving Merlin feeling terribly awkward all of a sudden. “We’re so _what_?” Bran cut in, sounding like he was ready to defend himself.  
   
Merlin was uncertain. He felt like he was treading where he shouldn’t tread, but it was natural, right? To question how two _children_ could be trying to stop the apocalypse?  
   
“You and – even with Will being who he is, it’s just odd. You still both look like children, and this is the _apocalypse_. But you two are leading this whole thing.”  
   
Bran relented, shaking his head as if realizing this was an argument not worth having. “It’s not just us,” he reassured Merlin, “and anyway, like I told you, we have had experience fighting this threat. But to make you feel better, Will is in contact with the other Old Ones, particularly with the first Old One, who is, of course, the oldest, strongest and wisest of them all. He’s helping out in an advisory capacity as this situation is ultimately Will’s primary responsibility. And I’m Will’s right hand man, so to speak,” Bran said, smiling.  
   
“How can he be in contact with them? If they’re all outside Time?”  
   
“The Sanctuary – where we are now – is outside Time,” Bran clarified. “All of Will’s fellow Old Ones reside here. Don’t ask me to explain what being outside Time means. The Old Ones come here to retire, as they are immortal, and therefore they can’t die…so this place outside Time is a peaceful place for them to rest. Basically, you’re a _very_ far away from home.”  
   
“Can’t take a bus home then?” Merlin asked cheekily.  
   
“No,” Bran said, grinning at him.  
   
“How old is this first Old One?” He wondered, feeling curious.  
   
“Over 4,000 years old. He’s also a Lord of the Light as the Light has Lords just as the Dark does. Does that help?” Bran asked him, looking expectantly at him like he knew how Merlin would react to this news.  
   
Merlin just stopped himself from gasping out loud. “That’s a _long_ time to live.”  
   
Bran nodded in assent. “I agree. I’ve met him a few times. I always get this sense of great wisdom when I’m near him. Like he gives you strength to accomplish a task just by his very presence. You may meet him most likely. Your friends, Gwen and Lancelot, already have.”  
   
“I feel behind,” Merlin remarked. He sat up better on his bed, peering closer at Bran.  
   
“What about you? You’re not just a boy from Wales, are you?”  
   
Bran smiled, looking rather excited about the chance to talk about himself. Who wouldn’t, Merlin mused.  
   
“Well, that painting over there that you mentioned,” Bran began, pointing to the painting of Cader Idris. “Painted by Will’s older brother, Max, who’s a bit of a self-possessed artist, but anyway… that is the Seat--”  
   
“—of Arthur in English, yes.”  
   
Bran smiled, pleased. “That’s right. That’s where I came from, you see, out of that mountain, from the past. My mother, with the aid of that first Old One – as all Old Ones can easily travel in Time -- left me in the future while she returned to her time after a three day stay. I was only a few months old, still a baby, and she left me in the care of a farmer in rural Wales, who she deemed of good character. His name is Owen Davies.  
   
“It was on a terrible winter night thirteen years ago. My mother had been half-frozen and worn out from carrying me, and she knocked on Owen Davies’ door, seeking shelter and help. For three days, he helped her get better and looked after me as well. When she had gone, he was left with me and a note saying, ‘His name is Bran. Thank you, Owen Davies.’ He has raised me as if I was his own son. Two years ago, I discovered the identity of my birth father,” he said, pausing, and giving Merlin a careful look.  
   
“The Seat of Arthur…you came from the past. Are you trying to tell me you were born at Camelot?” Merlin made a wild guess.  
   
“I was born 1,500 years ago; during the time of Camelot while my father reigned. In my and Will’s reality, we have our Arthur too. And he is my birth father,” Bran finished with unmistaken pride in his voice.  
   
Merlin thought he would’ve felt more surprised, but he wasn’t, oddly enough. It seemed to fit. Bran certainly did have an arrogance about him, a sense of pride to him that spoke of great heritage. Of course he’d be the son of a king, the greatest king Britain has ever known…  
   
“I can see it,” Merlin remarked. “I’m assuming you were legitimate?”  
   
Bran made a face. “Of course. I’ve read some of the Arthurian legends… and no, my mother was not the dark witch, Morgan. My mother was Guinevere. She looked different compared to your Gwen. You do know that Lancelot and Gwen are incarnations of the ones in Camelot?”  
   
Merlin shrugged. “Yes, well…we might as well be starting an Arthurian legend fan club here. I feel kind of sad that my denial that I wasn’t that sorcerer is all for naught now. So much for my mum naming me after a bird. She should have bought me a wand or something,” he sighed, waving his hand.  
   
Bran laughed. Merlin flashed him a grin.  
   
“So I’m guessing there was a good reason why your mother wanted to bring you forward in time? Did your father know of your existence? Because if you were legitimate, then what would the trouble…oh…was there that love triangle?” Merlin guessed shrewdly.  
   
Bran nodded, looking unhappy. “Political pressure, you know. She wanted to take me away from those troubles, so that I would grow up free of them. My father didn’t know of my existence during his lifetime. I believe my mother feared that due to her infidelity…” he stopped, as if the last thing he’d want to do is to talk about his mother so negatively.  
   
“That your father would be pressured to deny you were his son? Since everyone would be questioning your legitimacy?” Bran nodded grimly at that. “I suppose that fits with Arthurian legend…” Merlin recalled from the texts he’d read (he had to admit he was a bit curious in the past about the legends considering his name). “Camelot _did_ fall eventually. I haven’t regained my memories of my reality’s Camelot yet, but I’m sure trouble came too… and that the golden age of King Arthur unraveled in an unpleasant way. Did you never see him? Your birth father?”  
   
Bran smiled, his demeanor more at ease now for the slight change in subject. “Actually, I _have_ met him. Surprising I know, because he was just a mortal man after all. He had a proper ship burial when he died. But now, he’s almost immortal in a way…not like the Old Ones, no. But he has a higher calling now. He’s alive in a sense in his afterlife, outside Time. He’s a Lord of the High Magic. The High Magic is what those of both the Light and the Dark must adhere to. The Law of the High Magic.  
   
“My birth father is not a _dewin_ , a wizard, but he still has power in his own right. While the Dark was rising in my and Will’s reality, I encountered my father a few times. In his role as a Lord of the High Magic, he finally got to see me for the first time as I him. It was only in his afterlife that he was able to acknowledge me as his true son. During the first rising of the Dark back in my father’s time, my father succeeded in holding back the Dark for a dozen years. I wanted to prove myself worthy of that heritage.”  
   
“He sounds like a good man. I’m glad that you got to see him,” Merlin said.  
   
“So you see, Merlin,” Bran spoke solemnly, his tone self-assured as he continued, “--that I am not quite a child either. I am more than capable in helping you and your friends save your reality.”  
   
“No,” Merlin said wisely. “You’re not. You’re the Pendragon,” he said, not quite sure what made him say that last bit.  
   
A lot of strange things were happening around him and inside him, so Merlin resigned himself to saying things that might feel unbidden to him.  
   
Still, it was true. Bran _was_ the Pendragon, the son of Arthur, brought forward in time to help defeat the Dark one final time…  
   
It made so much sense that he would be here now to defeat the Dark in Merlin’s reality. And also, Merlin wondered if his Arthur had, in fact, been somehow possessed by Bran’s father. It would make sense – Lancelot had relayed to Merlin that Arthur had felt like he had been ‘possessed by himself.’ The only logical conclusion would be an Arthur from another reality, who appeared to be especially knowledgeable judging by his ‘Lord of the High Magic’ status.  
   
He decided to ask Lancelot about it. Lancelot had to have asked about that – Arthur was his best mate after all. And Merlin felt odd inquiring about it from Bran. Merlin had gleaned enough information from the boy.  
   
That whole possession thing was just far too strange anyway.  
   
“Lancelot and Gwen are anxious to see you, I’m sure,” Bran remarked then.  
   
Merlin nodded. “I’d love to see them.”  
   
“I’m glad you’re here. You’re funny,” Bran complimented him, giving him a half-smile.  
   
“Thanks. I try,” Merlin replied, smiling back at him.  
   
He stood up and let Bran lead the way.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“Oh Arthur. It’s so good to see you,” Elena said to him cheerfully.  
   
“Hi, Elena,” Arthur said to her, embracing her. Once he pulled away, he asked her, “Is Gwaine still here?”  
   
“Yes he is. In recovery,” Elena informed him.  
   
Then Arthur saw a man with longish red-brown hair and bright blue eyes walk past him in the ward.  
   
When Arthur looked at him, the man gave him a smug smile. Arthur had a feeling that this man was evil.  
   
“That’s Mr. Mitothin,” Elena told him when she noticed Arthur’s attention focused on the other man.  
   
“Right. Er…I need to talk to him. I have to ask him something,” Arthur said.  
   
“Oh, are you going to participate in the programme?” Elena assumed.  
   
Arthur shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see. Tell Gwaine I hope he has a fast recovery,” he told her.  
   
Elena nodded. “Of course.”  
   
~ * ~  
   
Arthur went inside Mr. Mitothin’s office. He shut the door behind him.  
   
Facing him, he said without preamble, “Who are you?” He demanded to know.  
   
Mr. Mitothin smiled pleasantly at him. “Ah, Arthur Pendragon. A thorn in my side, perhaps. But do not think you are above everything simply because you recall some castle that’s in ruins now. You have no idea what you’re up against.”  
   
 “You didn’t answer my question,” Arthur said firmly, undeterred.  
   
The other man looked amused. “I am known as the Black Rider, a Lord of the Dark. I am conducting a human experiment of sorts. But that’s all rather dull. This reality is terribly open to corruption. Your world has never had to deal with the likes of the Dark. It has certainly been interesting so far.”  
   
Arthur just stopped himself from rolling his eyes. Yes, if the man being ‘a Lord of _the Dark_ ’ wasn’t indicator enough of his ill intentions, he didn’t know what was. So he could only assume the opposing side would be the Light, the less annoying side. The makings of a fantasy film, clearly.  
   
“Usually organ donation occurs after the person dies…” Arthur remarked. “What you are doing here… you have Morgana too. You know what she was.”  
   
“Yes, I do. But now in this incarnation, she is a shadow of her former self. I do plan to have her undergo the programme. She doesn’t remember her former life, she has no magic. It seems your little pet sorcerer, Merlin, is the only one who will get his magic back. But I do have to say that manipulating Morgana, to have her work for me, is too easy to resist. Once she has outgrown her…usefulness, she will be _discarded_ ,” The Black Rider noted.  
   
“Fuck you,” Arthur retorted defiantly. He glared at him. “So that’s what you do, manipulate people… and people who are a part of the programme, you’re planning to have them donate their organs until they have no more left to give, aren’t you?”  
   
“Like I said, it’s all quite dull. And I’m certainly not explaining my plans to you,” the Black Rider declared coldly.  
   
“Morgana mentioned Stephen, Merlin’s uncle? What was that about?” Arthur wanted to know.  
   
The Black Rider smiled slyly. “He is a mentally afflicted man. That is all. It’s best to avoid him. He will cause you trouble.”  
   
“I highly doubt anyone related to Merlin will want to kill me,” Arthur said, so sure of his belief.  
   
“There is always a first for things,” The Black Rider said to him reasonably. “All those associated with the Light, particularly those meddlesome Old Ones, have some humans so convinced the Light is on the side of humanity. But the Light is just as vindictive, just as cold as the Dark. An innocent human life lost is nothing to them if it means the Light is victorious in the end. They may look human, but we of the Dark were _truly_ human once while those high and mighty Old Ones just carry human faces,” He said fiercely trying to make his point clear. His blue eyes lit up like cold blue flames. “They are only _pretending_ , slipping into society, blending in, being so _painfully_ normal, that the false sense of security they give you is nothing but that: _false_. Since they only pretend to comprehend humanity intimately, those of the Light lack human compassion.”  
   
“You have no compassion either if you’re organizing these organ donations,” Arthur pointed out to him. “Each side is imperfect in their own way. I get that. But I can’t support a side that has my sister playing puppet for them. And who has my friends involved in that bloody programme.”  
   
“I wasn’t trying to persuade you of anything. I was simply talking… you may be lucky that you have friends in high places, but you are _still_ stuck here. And I can make your life very _unpleasant_ ,” The Black Rider said smoothly.  
   
“You can try,” Arthur baited him. “You know where they are, don’t you?”  
   
The Rider smiled. He had a look in his blue eyes that told Arthur that, yes; the man knew exactly where they – Lancelot, Gwen and Merlin -- were.  
   
“They are being brainwashed by the Light. Which is something you may look forward to, or not. The tide ebbs and flows after all,” the Lord of the Dark said thoughtfully.  
   
“Well, this has been… _informative_ , but I think I’ll be leaving now,” Arthur decided.  
   
He turned to leave.  
   
“No, you should stay,” The Rider insisted.  
   
Something about the tone of his voice made Arthur reconsider his decision to exit the office.  
   
Arthur stayed.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“Merlin!” Gwen exclaimed. She rushed forward to hug him. “I was hoping you’d be all right with everything that’s going on.”  
   
“Lancelot was worried about you,” Merlin noted, looking to Lancelot. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he told her.  
   
Gwen smiled at him, letting him go. She went to talk to Bran, who looked a little uncomfortable standing there in midst of the reunion. Merlin heard Gwen saying something about Merriman being with Will. Bran grinned suddenly and said he needed to speak to Merriman. With that, the boy had left the room.  
   
Lancelot clapped him on the shoulder. “Knew you’d come here eventually. Can’t be without a Merlin during the apocalypse,” he teased him.  
   
“It’s just a part of my charm,” Merlin retorted cheekily.  
   
“Sit, sit,” Gwen ushered Merlin to sit at a table in the room. Gwen and Lancelot sat across from him.  
   
“Is this your bedroom then? For you and Lancelot?” Merlin concluded. He saw the big bed, certainly big enough for two, maybe even four people.  
   
Gwen nodded. “I feel terrible that I had Lancelot worry about me. I wanted to leave a note before I left with Will… but he said it was dangerous to give notice of my leaving. That the Dark would do something awful to Lancelot as a result. But he assured me that Lancelot would be with me soon, so that thought calmed me. And Will was right.”  
   
She smiled at Lancelot, squeezing his hand with her own. Lancelot returned the gesture.  
   
“Did you find out about Arthur’s self-possession, or whatever it really was, Lancelot?” Merlin ventured.  
   
Lancelot inclined his head. “Yes, I asked Will. Bran told you about his birth father, I assume?”  
   
“Yes he did,” Merlin confirmed. “It was him then?”  
   
“That’s the one. It’s best to ask Will if you have any somewhat awkward questions…or just anything at all,” Lancelot advised him. “He’s running this whole thing, and no question seems to faze him. If there’s a question he doesn’t want to answer, he pretends not to hear you and changes the subject. But if there’s something he doesn’t know, he’ll tell you so and see about finding the answer.”  
   
“I haven’t really talked to Will properly…” Merlin told them. “I just saw him being held against his will and I wanted to help. Then I ended up here.”  
   
“You’ll be seeing a lot of him here. Don’t worry about that,” Gwen assured him. “He’s a bit strange sometimes. How he can sound so wise and adult-like one moment, and then the next moment, he gets excited about something, for example, and he’s just a boy…” she mused.  
   
“I’m not sure whether to be reassured by that or not, but it feels like this is the right thing to do. Even if it involves somewhat eccentric people…I’m guessing you know about that first Old One? 4,000 something years old? He’s probably the oldest person in _existence,_ ” Merlin decided.  
   
“Oh, that’s Merriman,” Gwen told him. “He’s here now, but from what Will told me, when Merriman wants to see you, he will. So it’s best to stick to that.”  
   
Lancelot continued, “When you meet him, you just know you’ll never forget him. He’s rather tall, with white hair – well, he _is_ old after all – and his face is usually grim, maybe even a bit fierce too. He does look like he could throw a good punch though despite his age.”  
   
“Ancient, but without age or end…” Gwen considered. “He can be a bit grandfatherly, of course, but goodness, him and Will. It’s so _strange_. They act like good friends, and it’s like they’re unaware that there’s this huge age disparity between them. They just talk like equals.”  
   
“Old Ones do things differently,” Lancelot concluded.  
   
   
“Maybe, in a way, they’re both closer in age than we think. And they both carry the same burden, I suppose, being of the same calling,” Merlin considered. Gwen and Lancelot stared at him. Merlin shook his head, asking them, “You two haven’t remembered yet, have you? Camelot? I haven’t even though some of my magic has come back to me.”  
   
“No, we haven’t. You’re not alone in that. Though maybe once you meet Arthur in this life, you’ll finally remember?” Gwen suggested.  
   
Merlin covered his face with his hands. “Oh, Gwen,” he groaned. “I think you jinxed it. Now it won’t happen.”  
   
“Oh! I’m sorry…I just…I always mess that up,” Gwen apologized.  
   
“It’s okay. Maybe I’ll get lucky,” he hoped. “But I’m glad I’m not the only one with amnesia, or whatever you call what we have. I don’t feel so bad about feeling like I’m walking blind…because this whole situation would be greatly helped by those memories. Merlin was supposed to be wise, right? I could use some of that now.”  
   
Gwen reminded him, “Merlin, you got to university based on your _intelligence_.”  
   
Merlin remained uncertain. “But I highly doubt my studies in Psychology are going to help in an apocalypse.”  
   
“A lot of people are doing things they wouldn’t normally do, Merlin. Isn’t that psychology? I mean, when Arthur gets here…who knows what’s going on with him in our reality. I’m concerned that the more time he spends there, the more likely…something _bad_ will happen to him,” Gwen worried.  
   
“All right, you have me there, Gwen,” Merlin admitted. “And since we’ve veered into psychology, I believe that Bran’s trying hard to make up for something. I don’t think he acts the way he does just because of his heritage. It’s something else. If he grew up in rural Wales… well, it’s not exactly a cornucopia of diversity. But he seems to dealing with it better than I would think.”  
   
“Will and him have been friends for two years. They met when Will went to Wales to recover from hepatitis…Will’s uncle owns a farm in Wales and Bran’s adoptive father works on it,” Lancelot told him. “Will and Bran seem to have a solid friendship. I think that has helped Bran a lot.”  
   
“Do you think that maybe Will could have been his first actual friend?” Merlin deduced thoughtfully. “Not that there’s anything bad about that… he’s still young, and most people only end up having a few close friends in their lifetime. If Will is helping him, then I’m glad that Bran has him.”  
   
“The two of them are both a bit odd… that gives them something in common,” Gwen figured.  
   
“True,” Merlin agreed.  
   
“This is a bit maddening, but it’s good to know…” Gwen noted. “Will is the youngest of _nine_ children. Can you believe that? He said it’s always chaos around Christmas hols.”  
   
“The good chaos, I hope,” Merlin quipped.  
   
Gwen rolled her eyes.  
   
“So even before Will came into his powers, he had long learned to just sort of…go with the flow. It’s hard to stand out in the midst of such a big family. I doubt it all has to do with being an Old One…the almost eerie calm he has, and he’s the patient sort. Probably will be a professor one day,” Lancelot ventured.  
   
“Is his family…are they a happy one?” Merlin wondered. He found it hard to imagine being a part of a big family. It had just been him and his mum until she had passed away. And now he really only had his Uncle Stephen.  
   
Gwen nodded. “Not perfect, no family is anyway, but they’re a loving if a little dysfunctional family. That’s what Will says at least. And he doesn’t look like he’s been treated poorly. Though I can only imagine where his family believes he is now. He says that his family doesn’t know about his true nature as an Old One. They can’t know because it would be too much for them to take. Since Will is only 13 now…his family will probably believe he’s making up stories. Though his family does sense that Will’s a bit odd.  
   
“On his eleventh birthday, they thought he was ‘an old eleven’, but they’re his family, so they’re bound to recognize any strangeness. No one’s that oblivious even if they’re just normal people. They don’t treat him any differently because of it. But of course, this is just what Will told us. So we can’t completely confirm it, but I’d like to believe Will,” Gwen decided.  
   
“I honestly couldn’t have guessed he came from such a big family. It _is_ maddening, I agree,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “So I know one of his brothers is named Max… what about the rest?” He asked.  
   
Gwen answered him, “He mostly has brothers… but in order, it’s Stephen, Max, Gwen, Barbara, Mary, the twins Robin and Paul – both boys, and James, who’s only a year older than Will. And you should see Will talk about his oldest brother, Stephen. He pretty much idolizes him. It’s so endearing. Stephen’s in the Navy, and he’s usually away from home. Will said he had felt privileged to get Stephen’s attic room for his own a few years ago. Oh, I _always_ wished to have a brother or sister…you miss out on sibling things when you’re an only child,” she sighed.  
   
Bran returned to the room then. “Hi, sorry to interrupt, but we’re going to meet now. I’ll be leading since Will’s still busy with Merriman. There’s good news and bad news, but the good news cancels out the bad news…” he assured them.  
   
“I have a feeling the good news isn’t that the apocalypse is over,” Merlin assumed.  
   
“Unfortunately it’s too soon for that,” Bran noted. He smiled at Merlin.  
   
Lancelot, Gwen and Merlin followed him out of the room. Bran was walking a few feet ahead of them.  
   
“I think Bran likes you,” Gwen whispered to Merlin.  
   
“Well, I don’t think he hates me… what’s wrong with that?” Merlin inquired, baffled.  
   
Lancelot put in his two cents, “Nothing, not really. It’s just that he’s going to try to hog your time now. It should be interesting when Arthur _does_ end up here.”  
   
“He’s _thirteen_ ,” Merlin pointed out, disbelieving.  
   
“Bran’s a bit crafty… but I suppose it’s not a big deal in the end. He usually spends the most time with Will either way,” Lancelot told him.  
   
“I know you lot are talking about me,” Bran remarked, turning his head to face them. “Had enough of others doing that to know what it sounds like. Always about how strange I look.” He smiled almost viciously, like he was trying to cover up how much that bothered him by looking like it didn’t bother him one bit.  
   
“Oh, we—we weren’t talking about that. We would _never-_ -” Gwen was quick to say.  
   
Bran grinned at them. This time it was an honest grin. “I know. Of course you wouldn’t,” he said self-assuredly. Then he added, “Merlin, I need to ask you something.”  
   
Lancelot and Gwen exchanged ‘I knew it’ looks while Merlin shrugged and went to Bran.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“A Lord of the Dark, known as the Black Rider, has done something he’s not allowed to. At least according to the Laws of the High Magic,” Bran explained in the rectangular meeting room.  
   
A long table with exactly six chairs was in the center of the comfortably-sized room. As Bran stood at the front, looking like he was reveling in the position of leadership, the others sat. The chair at Bran’s right hand was left empty as Gwen informed Merlin that it was where Bran sat when Will was leading a meeting. You’d be subjected to Bran’s piercing look if you sat there, him saying simply, “That is my seat,” in a quiet yet firm voice.  
   
And that was that. No one but Bran touched that chair. Lancelot said that Will was somewhat bemused by Bran’s thing with the seating, but he just let him be.  
   
A big portrait of someone called, “Herne the Hunter” charging forward on a pure white mare, hung on the wall behind Bran. The Hunter looked especially strange, rather fearsome in a way. His head was bigger than that of a man’s and horned with antlers not unlike those on a stag. His eyes were yellow-gold like the eyes of a huge bird, unfathomable and a little alarming. Herne the Hunter may have been half-beast, maybe. His face told a story of cruelty and merciless impulse for revenge.    
   
“He has made it so travel between where we are, outside Time, and your reality is shut both ways,” Bran said.  
   
“That’s rather pompous of him,” Lancelot couldn’t help remarking.  
   
Everyone else agreed with that sentiment.  
   
“That means Arthur can’t come here,” Merlin concluded.  
   
Bran nodded. “Yes, that’s right. Merriman and my father will settle it. I wish I could be there. The Black Rider is going to get a good talking to,” Bran said in undisguised excitement, his tawny golden eyes seeming brighter all of a sudden. “Anyway, so travel will open up not long from now. That is the good news. We _will_ get Arthur here,” he said confidently.  
   
At that moment, Will entered the room. The scar on his face seemed to have mostly healed, now just a white line that marred on one cheek.  
   
“Couldn’t wait, Bran?” Will teased mildly. Bran flashed him a grin, and automatically moved to his chair at the right. Merlin was on Bran’s other side.  
   
“Best to get it out as soon as possible,” Bran noted with a shrug.  
   
“Yes, that’s true,” Will acknowledged. He then looked at Merlin. His blue-grey eyes revealed little of what he was feeling. His face only held an overall amicable expression. “It’s good to see you here, Merlin,” he said graciously.  
   
“Are you all right?” Merlin asked, concerned.  
   
Will smiled lightly. “No need to worry. I’m sorry that we had to meet in such a way, but your magic needed a ‘kick’ to return to you. Better to risk myself than you…”  
   
“Sometimes, Sais, you could stand to come up with _better_ ideas,” Bran contributed, frowning.  
   
“Sometimes the best way is not the easiest,” Will said with a sigh. He pointed out as if expecting the question, “Sais means English in Welsh. Bran likes to call me that when I’m frustrating him.”  
   
“I’ll get all of you speaking Welsh. Though it may be a bit hopeless because even Will here, with his knowing every language known to man, still could improve on his Welsh,” Bran commented, looking highly amused.  
   
“Oh you should’ve seen Will, Merlin,” Gwen brought up. “He spoke Old English, Middle English, Italian, Latin, Polish and Welsh in only the space of a few minutes. He sounded fluent in all of those languages.”  
   
“It was one of the most surprising things I’ve seen,” Lancelot remarked.  
   
Will looked a little embarrassed. “That’s something I’m not doing again. The purpose of that knowledge isn’t about showing off. And I think it gave me a bit of a headache too to do it that quickly. Knowing every language is meant to help me when I need to travel to different countries or to different times…hence the old dialects.”  
   
“Do you know what you’re going to do when you grow up?” Merlin wondered, feeling like saying, ‘grow up’ didn’t quite apply to Will.  
   
He nodded, smiling. “I’ve always been interested in anthropology…cultures and customs. I know my family expects me to live a life in academia, become a university professor. My dad’s a jeweler though, and he despairs that I might not follow in his footsteps,” Will remarked a bit sadly.  “And Bran will try to rule the world, I’m sure,” he bet, exchanging looks with him.  
   
“I’m looking into it,” Bran said nonchalantly.  
   
And with that, the meeting digressed into idle talk.  
   
~ * ~  
   
That evening, the rain was light, but no less oppressive. In a park, Will sat on a swing, feet firmly on the ground, and he barely moved. He felt weighted by his thoughts. Travel was once again open, as it should always be, between the place outside Time and the reality now plagued by the Dark.  
   
Will knew he should be making contact with Arthur now, trying to find him, but he felt that something had gone a bit wrong. It was only going to get harder from here on out. The Dark would be doing all they could to make Will’s plan difficult to carry out successfully.  
   
They had until Midsummer’s Eve, which was two months away…  
   
At least there was Stephen, Merlin’s uncle, as well as other leaders of the Resistance across the globe. They were men and women who had sworn their services to the Light. Now was their time to help for ultimately, this battle between the Light and the Dark was for the sake of humanity, so humans should be a part of the fight in some way. To insure that life go on normally, peacefully, and that the darkness in men’s hearts stay deep within them while the charity, the mercy of humankind would remain intact.  
   
The Dark had only been active for a few decades in this reality… as if this reality were an afterthought. Setting up those boarding schools that were more a source of organs than anything else, for one. All for the Dark’s twisted interest and amusement. To test out new ideas, to see what would happen. Will could see it now. That the Dark would remove the compulsion from some right before their last organ removal surgery. As these people were overcome with horror with what they've brought upon themselves, they'd be offered a chance to work for the Dark… that they wouldn’t have to die, that the Dark could make them better, healthy again.  
   
And any mortal serving the Dark would be at the top of the list for organs, if they needed them…  
   
It was a dreadful, miserable thought.  
   
Will was slightly startled when unbidden, his mind recalled a past memory. But it was more than a memory…  
   
It was almost as if it happened yesterday instead of nearly two years ago. Looking up, Will saw Bran standing upon a Welsh hillside. The six riders, the Sleepers awakened, were on their silver-grey mounts, standing in line before the high place where Bran stood. Each rider drew his sword, holding it upright before his face in a salute. Each man kissed the flat of his sword, as one would do in homage to a king.  
   
And Bran stood there slim and erect as a young tree, his white hair gleaming in a silver crest, and bent his head gravely to them with the quiet arrogance of a king granting a boon.*  
  
Then Will saw Bran turn his head to face him. He was shouting something to him, but Will couldn’t hear what he was saying.  
   
Will felt with utmost certainty that Bran was warning him.  
   
Danger was near. He sensed it. The Dark was creeping in.  
   
But it was too late.  
   
He didn’t see who shot him from behind, more than once. But it did not matter now. All that mattered was sending one last message before…before…  
   
 _“Merriman!”_ Will shouted urgently in his mind.  
   
That was all.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Merlin was shaken awake in the middle of the night.  
   
It was Bran. He looked terribly worried.  
   
“Merlin, I think something’s happened to Will.”  
   
Though Merlin had tried his best to reassure him and calm him down, it was a few hours until Bran managed to fall back asleep. Merlin had told him it wouldn’t do Will any good if Bran was sleep-deprived and not thinking as clearly as a result.  
   
With a resigned sigh, Merlin allowed Bran to sleep in his bed. At least then he could watch over him. Otherwise, Bran would probably be anxiously wandering the halls of the Sanctuary.  
   
Merlin sat up in bed, watching him sleep for some time. He swept his hand over his white hair, and he contemplated what it would have been like if he had had a younger sibling.   
   
~ * ~  
   
*straight from The Grey King; p. 159 (Aladdin Paperbacks edition)


	3. The Devil's Game

**Title:** Trembling on the Edge (Chapter 3)  
 **Author:** dk323  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Word Count:** ~9,246  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Merlin/Arthur (eventual), Will Stanton, Bran Davies, Lancelot/Gwen, Morgana, Freya, The Lady, Merriman, King Arthur, OC  
 **Warnings:** (Ch.3) non-con (off-screen), incest but they’re not related by blood but just to be safe (and I probably gave it away who the two people will be ;))  
 **Disclaimer:** The show Merlin is property of the BBC. The Dark Is Rising book series is property of Susan Cooper. Some elements inspired by the 2010 film, “Never Let Me Go.”  
 **Summary:**   As darkness descends, six people come together to save the world. Nothing will ever be the same again.

 **Chapter 3:** The Dark gains an advantage.

 **The Devil’s Game ~**  
   
   
 **Past:**  
   
The rooks were flying directly at the nursery window, trying in vain to gain entry. Stephen Emrys paid them no mind. He took his nephew out of his crib and he sat down at the desk chair.  
   
The baby had been crying, disturbed by the noise the rooks were making.  
   
Stephen hushed Merlin. “It’s all right, Merlin. Here you are now,” he said to him, giving him his blue and yellow dragon plushie.  
   
Merlin gurgled happily and hugged the dragon to him.  
   
“Aren’t you a little Dragonlord?” Stephen murmured to him.  
   
Merlin blinked at his uncle.  
   
Determined to get this done before the rooks could break the window, Stephen removed the glove from one of his hands.  
   
“Now this won’t hurt,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.  
   
He pulled up Merlin’s sleeve. From each finger, a thin line of flame shot out and merged together to form the symbol of a circle quartered by a cross on the baby’s forearm.  
   
The Sign of the Light.  
   
Stephen was relieved when Merlin didn’t appear to notice what had happened. He hadn’t felt the sensation of fire on his skin. Instead, Merlin seemed more interested in squeezing the dragon’s head with his tiny fingers. The quarter crossed circle faded away from Merlin’s forearm. It would remain an invisible sign for now. His nephew need never know it was there. Feeling a surge of something he preferred to keep inside of him, Stephen put the glove back on his bare hand.  
   
Outside, the rooks made an almighty ruckus, but they knew it was no use now, and they all flew off. Though one particular rook was undeterred and managed to break through the window. A shard of glass was stuck inside of the black bird, leaving it half-dead. The offending rook fell to the ground.  
   
Merlin started to cry again at the noise, and Stephen tried to quiet him and then set him back in his crib.  
   
He cajoled the baby, giving him another dragon plushie – this one was red and white – as a companion to the other one. “Look, Merlin. Two little dragons. What could be better?” He said, smiling as Merlin enthusiastically played with the dragons, bumping them against one another in an attempt at different embraces.  
   
Before he could return his attention to the rook, his older brother Balinor came into the room.  
   
“Hunith is getting some much needed rest,” Balinor said.  
   
“That’s good. She deserves it,” Stephen said sincerely. “The rooks have been causing a fuss,” He noted.  
   
“Hmm, yes. I see. Get it back outside, would you, Stephen?” Balinor asked him. He reached into the crib and pulled out his son.  
   
“But it’s injured. I know it’s no innocent creature, but…” Stephen paused, biting his lip.  
   
“Do what you feel is best,” Balinor said to him.  
   
Stephen nodded and he went to remove the glass from the bird, but once he saw that the rook was beyond saving, he took off his glove and formed a ball of fire in his hand. He set the deceased bird on fire, cremating the creature properly as that was more sanitary anyway.  
   
“Merlin has an affinity for dragons, it seems,” Balinor mused as Merlin refused to let go of his dragon toy.  
   
“You don’t sound surprised,” Stephen pointed out as he put his glove back on.  
   
“Ah, you don’t either,” Balinor retorted lightly, smiling.  
   
“Let us hope that he’ll regain what he has lost when he is old enough to deal with it,” Stephen said thoughtfully. “The Dark is only biding their time in our reality with those terrible boarding schools. But I doubt they’ll win in the final battle in the other reality,” he said firmly.  
   
“The youngest Old One has befriended the Pendragon,” Balinor said. “The Light will surely win. But you can’t dissuade me, Stephen. I need to go there, to help. With the Light’s victory there, then the Dark will be unable to make a try in our reality for some time. They’ll be too weakened by the loss to do a mass assault on our reality.”  
   
“And if they do, hopefully it’ll be when Merlin’s old enough, when the others too are old enough, to stop them properly.”  
   
“You’ll want to know this,” Balinor confided in him. “I heard that if the Light wins, then they can set the year for when the Dark can strike at its strongest in our reality, if it comes to that. So, of course, they’d conveniently do it at least two decades from now.”  
   
“Did Merriman tell you that?”  
   
Balinor nodded. “They need aid in any form, and it is only right that I go. For my son’s sake. I know how you and change don’t cooperate. It is best you stay here.”  
   
“But you can’t leave your son, Balinor. I have no son, no family, not like you. You should be the one to stay. I understand you want to help the cause of the Light, for humanity, but family still comes first. You can’t abandon your family.”  
   
“You’ve said your piece many times, Stephen. But I _need_ to do this. If I die, I’ll die knowing I did what I could to insure my son grows up in a non-apocalyptic world. That he’ll be able to follow in my footsteps when the time is right and not perish before he’s had an honest chance at life,” he said firmly, strong in his conviction. “You will keep an eye on him, won’t you, Stephen?”  
   
“Of course. Merlin’s my nephew,” Stephen said with a nod.  
   
“Good. I know I can trust you,” his older brother said confidently.  
   
After a moment, Stephen said quietly, “Balinor?”  
   
“Yes?”  
   
“Did Merriman…about my soul, will my soul be saved?” He ventured tentatively.  
   
Balinor sighed. He set down his son in his crib before sitting down beside his younger brother.  
   
He took off Stephen’s gloves. “No, don’t do that,” Stephen said sharply, pulling his uncovered hands away from his brother.  
   
“You’re a good person. That’s all that matters,” Balinor said resolutely.  
   
Stephen’s hands trembled as he put his gloves back on. “I wish I could believe that as strongly as you,” he admitted.  
   
Balinor pulled him into an embrace. Stephen relaxed, his conflicted mind easing for the moment.  
   
Sometimes actions were louder than words after all.  
   
~ * ~   
   
 **Present:**    
   
“Arthur, I wasn’t expecting you,” Morgana started all too calmly.  
   
Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he entered her home. “I’m not here for pleasantries, Morgana. I just want you to tell me about this,” he said firmly.  
   
He showed her the “Most Wanted” poster of Will Stanton. It was crossed out, a big ‘X’ through the whole paper and the word, “dead” scrawled across it.  
  
Morgana looked at him in puzzlement. “I don’t understand. What does this have to do with me?”  
   
“You’re working with the Rider, I know you are. It would be all too perfect if he told you to do this. You just couldn’t say no.”  
   
“The Rider?” Morgana wondered, continuing to act confused. “I don’t understand, Arthur. Are you trying to accuse me of killing a boy of all people?” She asked in shock.  
   
Arthur felt impatient and he just knew he looked it too. “Mr. Mitothin. Stop pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about. I don’t know exactly what he did to you, but you’re complicit in this. And I looked through a lot of flyers, and some even had your handwriting.” He informed her.  
   
He pulled out another flyer, unfolded it, and then also removed a note that Morgana had written some weeks ago from his pants pocket as well.  
   
Arthur gave her a firm look, daring her to deny it. Both papers had the same elegant, cursive writing that Arthur knew was Morgana’s. He had grown up with her after all.  
   
“You’re mistaken. I don’t know what this has to do with your accusations. So that handwriting is mine. It doesn’t mean I killed someone.”  
   
“I wouldn’t be surprised that the Rider would do this. To have my sister kill an enemy of the Dark. To send a message to me.”  
   
“I thought you had a talk with him. Why do you still not see that you’re on the wrong side?”  
   
Arthur latched on to her words. “How do you know that I talked to him?” Arthur asked.  
   
“Elena called,” Morgana said slowly. “She told me you had a rather long conversation with Mr. Mitothin. And that after it, you came out of the office looking positively irritated about something.”  
   
“Fine, you know what? If you’re going to act clueless, I’m going to leave. I don’t have the time or energy to get you to see that _you_ , Morgana, are on the _wrong_ side.”  
   
Morgana’s green eyes sparked. “That boy was no boy. He _wasn’t even human_. The crime isn’t as bad as you make it seem. It was more like killing an alien. I did it for the sake of humanity!” She exclaimed.  
   
Arthur was startled and dismayed that Morgana believed in her conviction so strongly when it was a lie.  
   
“That’s what they have made you think, but I’m sorry, Morgana – I can’t see you as a sister of mine if you’re okay with killing a child who has done nothing to you personally. I remember who I truly am, and I will kill myself hundred times over before I side with the Dark,” Arthur said fiercely. “Good bye, Morgana.”  
   
He moved toward the door, but Morgana’s parting words sent a tendril of uncertainty within him.  
   
“ _No one_ leaves the Black Rider’s presence unscathed, Arthur. You may think that you’ve been left unaffected, but only time will tell,” she threatened smoothly.  
   
Arthur clenched his jaw, his fists tight on either side of him. He didn’t deign to answer her. He just opened the door and left, shutting the door behind him.  
   
Morgana didn’t know what she was saying. He wouldn’t let her words get to him. He felt the same. There was no way…the Rider couldn’t have done anything to him.  
   
Arthur didn’t want to consider the possibility that this Lord of the Dark was capable of subtly manipulating him, so that even Arthur himself didn’t recognize it. That maybe the Rider wanted Arthur to be complacent, to believe he was still on the side of the Light. The thought made Arthur a little paranoid, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now.  
   
He had to find a way to get in contact with Merlin’s Uncle Stephen. Arthur had a feeling this Stephen had a connection with the Light. If the Rider appeared to hate the man, then clearly that meant Stephen was an enemy of the Dark.  
   
Like that boy, Will Stanton, had been…  
   
Arthur thought it was horrible that even the life of a child could not be spared during these dark times. What was the world coming to?  
   
~ * ~  
   
Freya sat by Will’s bedside. She checked his pulse again, for what was the third time in the space of a few minutes. She felt anxious because he hadn’t woken up.  
   
“Why isn’t he coming back to life, Mr. Emrys?” She asked Merlin’s uncle.  
   
Merlin’s uncle, Stephen Emrys, had graying hair, a man well on in the middle of his years. But his blue eyes were just as inquisitive, just as vibrant as they’d been in his younger days. He wore a dark suit with a pale grey vest underneath, always the picture of propriety. But the strangest thing about him was the skintight dark leather gloves he wore most of the time.  
   
“Merriman said it’s because he’s so young, his powers aren’t as strong as they could be,” Stephen explained to Freya, resting a gloved hand on the back of her chair. “He won’t come back to life as quickly as a consequence. But he will wake up. There is no doubt about that. Though having his immortality tested when he’s still a child, in a sense, will take a toll on him. But sometimes, we learn strength through weakness.”  
   
“It’s horrible,” Freya remarked. “Especially with what’s happening now…it’s the worse time for him to die.”  
   
“There’s nothing more that the Dark wants now is to ‘poke a hole’ in our efforts,” Stephen said.  
   
“I see your way with words has not changed, Stephen,” Merriman said drily, a slight smile on his face, as he entered the room. He was holding a vial of a pale liquid.  
   
“Merriman,” Stephen said with a nod.  
   
“What is that you’re holding?” Freya asked him.  
   
“Ah, this is just a restorative for my Will there,” Merriman explained to them. “He should wake soon. I think it best if I’m the only one in the room. I don’t want him to be startled during such a moment…”  
   
“I understand. But my nephew, Merlin, he’s all right?” Stephen inquired, sounding concerned but his words laced with a sense of urgency.  
   
“Yes. He’s outside Time now. He hasn’t remembered yet, but those are tricky matters. You cannot force it. Bran has taken a shine to him though,” Merriman noted, giving a small smile. “But it is not your nephew I am worried about,” he added grimly.  
   
“Who is it?” Freya was curious to know.  
   
“It’s best not to name names now. And it’s nearing time. If it’s all the same to you,” Merriman said, giving the other two significant looks.  
   
“Of course. Come along, Freya.”  
   
As the two of them left the room, Merriman said, “Thank you, Stephen, Freya.”  
   
“It was no trouble at all,” Stephen said while Freya smiled in response.  
   
The two of them departed from the room, leaving Merriman alone with Will.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Merlin woke up to find his bed empty.  
   
Bran burst into his room. He had a smile on his face. “Good morning, Merlin. Will’s all right. The Lady told me so,” he said breathlessly.  
   
“The Lady?” Merlin uttered, puzzled.  
   
Then a small, old woman with strangely young-looking eyes entered his room. She wore a blue dress that brought out the blue in her eyes. Merlin had the sense that this woman was more than just a woman. She wasn’t an Old One, no; she had to be beyond that. Beyond any power…  
   
“Hello, Merlin,” The Lady said, her voice soft yet pleasantly bell-like too. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”  
   
She held out her thin hand to him, and he shook it. On one finger, there was a ring with a rose-coloured stone. Merlin felt a warm feeling of peace and calm in her presence.  
   
After the handshake, Merlin asked, “Who are you exactly? Bran said you’re the Lady.”  
   
“I have lived a very long time, Merlin, and have gone by many names. You may simply call me the Lady. You have been told about the High Magic?”  
   
Merlin nodded. “Are you a part of that?”  
   
“I speak for the will of the High Magic on occasion, yes.”  
   
“Merriman calls her ‘Madam’,” Bran pointed out.  
   
Merlin thought if a 4,000 year old man deferred to someone like that, then clearly that meant this woman was very old, and very powerful as well.  
   
“You have a Sign of Fire on you, Merlin,” she told him gently.  
   
“What?”  
   
“On your forearm. There you are,” she informed him. She pulled up his sleeve and swept her hand on the inside of his forearm.  
   
Merlin was surprised to see a small quarter crossed circle appear on his forearm. It was a smooth white, looking well-healed like it had been a long ago burn.  
   
“Oh, I didn’t even know who had that,” Bran remarked, peering at the sign.  
   
“I didn’t know either,” Merlin mused, looking questioningly at the Lady. “Where did it come from?”  
   
“Your Uncle Stephen gave it to you when you were very young. I do feel it best if Stephen would tell you his part in this troubling time, but it is better for you to know as soon as possible.”  
   
“He didn’t tell me exactly what he’s caught up in, but is he working for the Light? But he’s just a man, is he?”  
   
“Yes, your uncle is just a man, but a good man at heart, which we can’t have enough of when the Dark comes Rising. Stephen swore his services to the Light years ago. He is now one of the leaders for the Resistance, those who are fighting against the Dark in your reality. The Sign of Fire, which is a Sign of the Light as well, is meant as a symbol of protection for you. It has served you well, though you were unaware of its existence.”  
   
“I wish I had met him earlier…although I haven’t actually _seen_ him. He just calls or writes me. I don’t understand…”  
   
Merlin noticed that not only the Lady but Bran too held an unhappy expression.  
   
“Your uncle has his own struggles like any man,” she said, a touch of sadness in her voice as she spoke. “I don’t wish to speak for him as that is his place, but he may think that if he saw you, then he’d have to tell you everything. As you are his kin, and it is your right to know. But how he communicates with you now creates a barrier.”  
   
“So he would feel less guilty about not telling me,” Merlin decided with a sigh. Then he thought – if his uncle had doings with the Light, what about his father? “What about my father? Was he involved in the same way as my uncle? They were brothers after all. I know he disappeared, but I don’t know more than that.”  
   
“Like your uncle, your father was involved with the Light,” The Lady confirmed. “I am sure if your mother knew what he was doing, she wouldn’t have let him do it. But he wanted to insure that the Dark was defeated in Bran’s reality. So your father chose to aid the Light. It was for your sake, I believe, to make sure that your reality was safer.”  
   
Merlin was grateful to finally know what had happened to his father; but it still hurt that he hadn’t gotten the chance to know him. That his father had given up his life for a good cause, but he had paid the price of never getting the opportunity to watch Merlin grow up. And his mother had no clue while his uncle hadn’t told Merlin the truth. Maybe because he didn’t believe at the time that Merlin would believe it?  
   
After all, this ordeal between the Light and the Dark was not something everyone could comprehend. Merlin wasn’t sure if he would’ve written his uncle off as being half-mad if he had delved into the truth.  
   
Also, this was quite possibly the worst time to discover the truth of his father’s disappearance. _Of course_ he’d find out about during an apocalypse. Merlin knew that to truly resolve this, he needed to discuss the matter properly with his uncle. But for now, he had to focus on dealing with the end of the world. It was what his father would have wanted, for Merlin to do what he could to help.  
   
“Because if the Dark loses in one reality, they’ll have less chance of gaining control of another reality…” Merlin concluded slowly. Wasn’t that what they were doing now but in reverse? Now they were attempting to defeat the Dark to prevent them from making a second try in the reality they’d lost in. “Wait, but…is this the same battle that happened a year ago for you, Bran?”  
   
“Yes,” Bran confirmed. “It wasn’t long ago for me, but from your uncle’s perspective…it has been a little over two decades. To the Light and the Dark, Time isn’t linear…since they can both travel in Time, there is less of a restriction. It is stupid, in my opinion, for the Dark to make a try in your reality after their recent total defeat in ours,” he said, sounding annoyed.  
   
“Is this like real life Doctor Who then? With the time travel?”  
   
“Oh, the bloke with the long scarf?” Bran asked.  
   
“Er yeah…” Merlin said slowly. Back in the _‘70s_ , he thought to himself, feeling miffed.  
   
Now he had a bowtie and sometimes wore a fez.  
   
The Lady looked understandably bemused at the turn of conversation. “I’ll be leaving now,” she cut in smoothly. “Will is with Merriman at your uncle’s, Merlin. He’ll return here soon. He will be fine,” she reassured them, smiling.  
   
Once the Lady left the room, Bran looked to Merlin. “The Lady only told me that Will had been hurt. But it has to be something really bad for Merriman to be involved.”  
   
“I’m sure he’ll tell you when he returns,” Merlin told him confidently.  
   
He doubted Will could keep whatever had really happened from Bran. Anyway, Bran definitely seemed to be the type to be good at getting information out of someone – just by the force of his personality alone.  
   
“Of course he will,” Bran agreed. “Are you all right though?” he asked of him in concern. “After finding out about your father?”  
   
“I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it,” Merlin assured him, giving him a small smile. Then changing the subject swiftly, he asked in curiosity, “Now what is this about the Doctor with the long scarf? That’s Tom Baker…that was _decades_ ago.”  
   
Bran looked amused. “Oh well, actually…my and Will’s present day is 1978, so he’s the current Doctor in our time.”  
   
Merlin stared at him. “Seriously? And you didn’t think to tell me this before?”  
   
“Sorry…it must have slipped my mind,” Bran remarked, looking a bit sheepish. “What about you? Your current year is 2011, isn’t it? What Doctor are you on?”  
   
“The Eleventh Doctor. He wears a bowtie.”  
   
Bran let out a breath. “Wow. You’re already on double digits!”  
   
“Did you know Tom Baker was pretty much high in almost every episode during his run?” Merlin pointed out to him.  
   
Bran frowned. “And how is that a bad thing?” He argued.  
   
“Well, he _is_ still considered one of the most popular Doctors even in my time,” Merlin conceded. “So I guess it wasn’t a bad thing exactly. Bad for his health, maybe.”  
   
“Scarf beats a bowtie, I think,” Bran decided.  
   
Merlin was hit by another memory flash then.  
   
 _“Your neckerchiefs are completely ridiculous, Merlin,” Arthur had said to him, and proceeded to remove the offending blue neckerchief from his neck._  
   
Merlin shook his head. These memory flashes felt disorienting and he dearly wished he’d get a full memory return. Recalling bits and pieces out of order didn’t help much at all.  
   
“We should make a pro and con list of our respective Doctors,” Bran announced.  
   
Merlin thought it was a welcome relief to have the somber mood lifted after last night’s worry about Will.  
   
Not long into their endeavor, Gwen and Lancelot found them arguing amicably. The couple soon joined in after they learned what they were discussing.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“Hullo,” Will said cheerfully enough to Stephen and Freya who came into the room.  
   
He was sitting up in bed, in the midst of drinking tea. He set down the cup. Will looked too pale as if he had undergone a devastating illness instead of being shot to death. He looked tired, but otherwise in a good mood as he smiled.  
   
“Stephen, I expect you to make sure he doesn’t get carried away,” Merriman said to him, giving him a significant look.  
   
“Of course,” Stephen said.  
   
“I’m not going to confront the Dark, Merriman. I do have sense,” Will assured him, though his voice sounded oddly adult. It wasn’t the words of a child defending himself, but more of someone older who deeply comprehended the gravity of the situation and knew what he shouldn’t do.  
   
Merriman pat Will on the head in an intimate gesture, as a father would do to his child. Will smiled quietly at him.  
   
“Yes, I know that,” Merriman acknowledged softly. “But you are still young and prone to believe in your invincibility. You will be physically weak for some time, so you should make sure to take it easy,” Merriman advised him firmly.  
   
Will nodded, his expression solemn.  
   
“Oh, I remember when I was your age,” Freya spoke up. “There was this really deep lake, and I was dared to dive into it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the best swimmer. It’s a miracle I survived that.”  
   
“One time I hurt my arm after falling a few feet in the Welsh mountains…” Will told her. “Although that wasn’t completely my fault. The mountain shrugged, _literally_ , and I lost my balance. It was the Dark’s way of telling me to go away.”  
   
“They can do that?” Freya uttered. “That’s terrible. If you had fallen further, I can’t imagine…”  
   
“Yes, they can. The Dark have their own tricks to manipulate and sometimes, it may not even be enough to be wary,” Merriman said, a note of weariness in his tone.  
   
“Are you planning to return to others?” Stephen asked of Will.  
   
“There’s somewhere else I need to go first,” Will informed him. “But that shouldn’t take long. And the Lady is at the Sanctuary, so they know I’m all right.”  
   
“Stephen, I think it would be best if you contact Arthur,” Merriman directed him. “I expect he’s aware of you by now. Will needs to focus on his recovery. If you can bring him here, then I’ll take him to the Sanctuary.”  
   
“I’ll get that taken care of,” Stephen said, nodding.  
   
“Why don’t you just go to him, Merriman?” Freya wondered.  
   
Will’s lips quirked into an amused smile, but he didn’t speak.  
   
“My dear girl, you see, I can be a bit shy,” Merriman joked lightly.  
   
“Quite the enigma, Merriman is,” Stephen put in.  
   
Merriman appeared rather unaffected by the comment, as if used to others being perplexed by him.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Apparently everyone had gone mad, Arthur decided. Those who seemed to know about Merlin’s uncle kept talking about how he had the ‘hands of the devil’ and how you wouldn’t want to be near him if he had his gloves off.  
   
As far as finding out where Stephen Emrys exactly lived, no one knew. It was in a secret location, or maybe his residence was magically hidden.  
   
So Arthur, frustrated and tired with it all, thought it would be a good idea to get a drink or two. To loosen up a bit.  
   
He knew his limit, and he was sure he’d gone over it as he downed shot after shot. But the world was ending, Gwen, Lancelot and Merlin were nowhere to be found, Gwaine and Elena were participating in a life-killing programme, and Morgana was someone he’d really rather not think about now.  
   
Simply put, Arthur was stuck in a rut. He didn’t know what to do and even at work, he felt like he was on automatic, going through the motions. It was almost _painful_.    
   
And there was this pretty woman at the bar. She had light brown hair and hazel, no, green eyes; but it was odd because Arthur felt like he should know this woman, but something…something made her seem like a stranger to him. He didn’t know what to make of her. But he was in the mood, so he couldn’t resist flirting with her for a bit.  
   
She offered him a drink. Everything inside of him screamed against accepting the drink, but he was drunk and didn’t much care. It was only a drink, anyway. The woman had seemed trustworthy, and so Arthur drank it.  
   
What happened after that, Arthur couldn’t quite recall.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“This will get me out of the organ donation programme, right?” Morgana wanted to confirm.  
   
“It has only been a day, and you’re so sure you’re pregnant?” The Black Rider asked her, appearing amused.  
   
“Yes, I know I am,” Morgana told him confidently. “And hopefully if the drink has worked as you said it would, Arthur won’t remember what I did with him.”  
   
“Very well. We will check you out to make sure, and then we can proceed with the arrangement. We will send you, oh, thirteen years into the past to have the child there,” the Rider told her.  
   
“But the programme?” Morgana asked again.  
   
“We won’t have need of you once you give birth to the child,” the Rider said dismissively.  
   
“Every child needs a mother. _You need me._ I’m more use to you with all my organs intact,” Morgana argued.  
   
The Rider stroked his chin. “You may have a good point. Too much trouble finding someone else to look after the child. As long as you allow the Dark to have a strong influence in the child’s life.”  
   
Morgana nodded. “Of course,” she said. “I’m sure the child will come to see you as a father,” she assured him.  
   
The Rider clasped his hands, looking inordinately pleased. “It would be a great boon for us to have Mordred. If the Light has that little pale freak, then we deserve something too. And after being reprimanded for halting travel between outside Time and Earth, I certainly can use this happy news at the moment,” he mused, smiling a twisted smile.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Will found Bran’s birth father in the sitting room within the castle. _The silver-circled castle at the back of the North Wind, among the apple trees_ , he thought. It was where Bran would have gone if he hadn’t decided to remain on Earth.  
   
The fire was crackling merrily in the hearth. King Arthur, now a Lord of the High Magic, looked much the same as the last time Will had seen him. He had a strong, noble sun-tanned face and vibrant blue eyes. His hair was brown and lightly streaked with grey though his beard was fully grey. Will recalled when he had first seen him, how despite this lord being a man in the middle of his years, he still had the vigour of a young man and the wisdom of an old one.  
   
There was a quiet authority about Bran’s true father. It was as if he was well-aware of his importance and was confident in the knowledge, but he didn’t carry the pomp that others of high standing were wont to do.  
   
Will smiled quietly when Arthur noticed his presence. He nodded to the older man. “My Lord,” he said solemnly.  
   
“Ah, Old One, it is good to see you. You should sit down. You’re not looking well,” he said, peering at him in concern.  
   
“I’m all right,” Will declared steadily. He sat down in the vacant seat across from Arthur.  
   
“Merriman told me what transpired,” Arthur informed him. “Terrible business, the apocalypse. Merriman had waited so long for the final battle, and now the Dark is having a try in another reality so soon after that. As you can imagine, Merriman is not happy about it.”  
   
“I know. I see how grumpy he is about the whole matter. He was looking to retire in peace and now this is happening. But Merriman is dealing with it as best as he can. Certainly helps that I’m the one in charge now. It is my duty after all,” Will said with a sigh.  
   
“A burden that I hope will not weigh you down. I do expect you to come here to hasten your recovery. I would think there’s no better place,” Arthur remarked, pride in his voice.  
   
“I intend to come here, yes,” Will agreed.  
   
“Now what is the true reason of your visit? It has to do with my son, Bran, doesn’t it?” Arthur asked him.  
   
Will nodded. “This is the second time he has been called in the fight against the Dark, as you well know. I talked this over with Bran and we decided that a concession be made. Since this second calling was unexpected, and it’s not fair to Bran to forget again for the rest of his life.”  
   
“Do not think I see that you hold some bias in these matters,” Bran’s father said knowingly. “But I understand what you are saying. An adjustment needs to be made.”  
   
“What if, what if…” Will paused, worried that once he gave his idea, that there was the chance it would be denied. And then what could he do? “What if he forgets for only a period of time, and he remembers when he’s of age, so to speak?” He suggested.  
   
Arthur smiled, appearing to like the idea. “I will see what can be done, but understand, I am just one lord, Old One. I am not all powerful.”  
   
“Yes, I know, My Lord,” Will said quickly. “But Bran thinks he could deal with that. Though his first choice is not to forget again at all, but this is a delicate matter.”  
   
“Have you considered that one reason he chose to remain on Earth and forget was because you would remain as well?” Arthur said shrewdly.  
   
“Oh,” Will only said, realizing that he hadn’t really considered that before.  
   
But it made sense. Bran _had_ known Will would stay on Earth in his lonely task as the Watchman of the Light. If Bran had left to retire with his birth father, King Arthur, outside Time in this castle… then it would be a long time before he would see Will again. And Will would live his immortal life on Earth, waiting until the day that he too could retire outside Time with his fellow Old Ones.  
   
Thinking of it like that, Will decided he’d take Bran forgetting about the Light and the Dark, his identity as the Pendragon, and Will’s true nature as an Old One…because despite what Bran could forget, he would still remember the most important thing, that Will Stanton was a strange English boy who was his friend. That’s what truly mattered in the end.  
   
King Arthur saw that Will was coming to a realization. He looked pleased as he saw Will smile to himself. “Now -- I would like to hear how my son is doing,” he asked of Will.  
   
As the strong fire warmed the room, Will was all too happy to tell him.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Arthur was spared the effort of finding Merlin’s uncle when a petite blonde woman by the name of Alice came by his home in a small silver vehicle. She said that she would take him to Stephen’s residence as it was, as Arthur figured, tricky to find and get to.  Arthur had asked if Alice was Stephen’s wife, as she looked middle-aged, though she seemed to be the type to age gracefully.  
   
She had said no, that she was simply a close friend of Stephen’s. Apparently, Arthur learned, Merlin’s uncle had never married. As he’d expected, Stephen did have something to do with the Light. He was one of the leaders of the Resistance against the Dark. That because Merlin’s uncle had sworn his services to the Light, the Dark couldn’t touch him…he didn’t have the compulsion to participate in the programme.  
   
No wonder the Black Rider couldn’t stand the man.  
   
Stephen lived in an impressive manor in the country; the grounds were expansive and well-kept. Arthur thought it odd that he couldn’t quite remember the directions to the manor from his place. Alice assured him that was the trick of the manor, that anyone visiting wouldn’t be able to recall the directions. Unless you knew how to outwit the trick, which only a few knew how to do.  
   
After seeing that the inside of the manor was just as grand as the outside, Arthur soon found himself in Stephen’s study.  
   
“Hello, Arthur,” Stephen said with a smile, his gloved hands clasped in front of him. He motioned with a hand, directing him to take a seat at the empty chair across from him. Arthur did.  
   
“Hi. You’re Merlin’s uncle then? A bit elusive, I’ve heard,” Arthur remarked.  
   
“Yes, unfortunately, that has to be the case. But I am glad you’re here,” Stephen said.  
   
“This may seem forward," Arthur began a bit uneasily, "but I was wondering what people mean about you having the ‘hands of the devil’? That if you take your gloves off, something bad could happen. I think it sounds bollocks, but--” Arthur stopped, feeling like it was a bad idea to bring this up.  
   
Stephen frowned, but before he could say a word, a dark-haired young woman walked quickly into the room. She gave Arthur a cursory glance before looking to Stephen.  
   
“Mr. Emrys, Merriman’s left. He told me there’s an urgent matter he needs to deal with. He said he wasn’t sure what it was, but well…urgent isn’t exactly indicative of a good thing. Will’s going to come instead,” she informed the older man. She turned to Arthur then. “I’m Freya, by the way. Merlin’s friend. You must be Arthur, right?”  
   
Arthur nodded. “Nice to meet you, Freya,” he said, standing up to shake her hand. She shook it while at the same time, she swept back a stray lock of her hair back behind her ear.  
   
She looked like she had run to the study, but she had a smile on her face for Arthur.  
   
“Why I am not surprised Merriman has left,” Stephen noted. “He’s _always_ going off somewhere,” he mused to himself.  
   
“Wait. Will as in Will Stanton?” Arthur asked, confused, as he sat back down. “The boy who died?”  
   
“Will’s immortal…” Freya told him slowly. She looked strangely at Arthur as if wondering why he didn’t know that. Then she corrected herself, “Though dying for the first time has physically weakened him a bit. He has to take things slow with walking and that sort of thing. But he _is_ alive.”  
   
“I think it’s best if I tell you about the Old Ones of the Light, Arthur,” Stephen decided.  
   
Arthur listened intently as Stephen explained who the Old Ones were to him.    
   
~ * ~  
“Hello, Arthur. It’s good to finally see you,” Will greeted him when he came.  
   
Arthur thought the boy might faint at any moment. He looked so pale and just tired, like he’d be better off resting in bed. But Will seemed to be doing his best job at hiding his weakness, an amicable expression gracing his face.  
   
“I’ll get to see the others then? You’ll take me to them?” Arthur assumed.  
   
“Yes, I’ll take you to them,” he assured Arthur.  
   
“Oh Will,” Stephen said, “I know you have that system in place at the Sanctuary, but I thought…this is just some of my nephew’s things he might like. And I have something for you and Bran as well,” he told him, giving him the suitcase that was behind his desk.  
   
Will opened the suitcase. He grinned as he surveyed the contents. He looked to Stephen. “I’m sure Bran will love what you got him. And thank you for the book. It’s just what I was looking for,” he said gratefully.  
   
“Not a problem. Just showing that I do listen,” Stephen joked lightly.  
   
“Who’s Bran?” Arthur wondered.  
   
“He’s a very good friend of mine,” Will told him. “You’ll find out the rest at the Sanctuary. Also, you won’t need to worry about food at the Sanctuary because you won’t feel hungry while you’re there. You could eat if you want to, to keep a sense of normalcy, but you don’t need to. We mostly have food and drink for when you need to return to Earth and your body readjusts and you’re hungry again. So it’s best to eat carbohydrates for the energy you’ll need. We have clothes for each person, but if you would like to bring some of your own, we can stop by your home. There’s a bathroom attached to each room as well…we have a laundry room too, but after Bran kicked the washer one time, it’s started acting funny,” Will warned, his lips quirking in amusement.  
   
“Funny as in how?” Arthur asked, raising his brow.  
   
Will shrugged. “Seems to do different things for different people. It _will_ stillwash clothes properly though. Just be on the look out for odd designs on your clothes or for your whites to turn yellow…”  
   
“Great,” Arthur said drily.  
   
“We should go then,” Will announced.  
   
Arthur remembered something and turned back to Stephen. “I have these two friends, Gwaine and Elena, who are under the compulsion… If you could do anything to help them, I’d really appreciate it,” he said sincerely.  
   
“Of course. I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for letting me know,” Stephen told Arthur.  
   
Arthur nodded at him.  
   
“Good luck you two,” Stephen wished them.  
   
Arthur left with Will.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Merlin smiled when Arthur entered his room.  
   
“Feeling overwhelmed?” He asked Arthur.  
   
Merlin tried not to think about those dreams he’d been having of Arthur. But it was terribly hard considering Arthur was here in the flesh. He finally had the chance to meet him properly.  
   
Arthur nodded, rubbing his brow to that effect. He sat down beside Merlin on the bed.  
   
Arthur looked carefully at Merlin. “You haven’t remembered yet?” He guessed.  
   
“No I haven’t. You have?” Merlin ventured.  
   
“Yeah. I was hoping once you’d see me…but still nothing?” Arthur said, feeling a bit desperate.  
   
It would be so much easier if Merlin would just remember. Arthur wasn’t in the best of moods after Bran, with Will in the room, informed Arthur straight that he was a pale imitation of his birth father.  
   
Once Arthur had left the room, he could hear Will and Bran arguing in what he was sure was Welsh.  
   
That had certainly left Arthur with the sinking feeling it would take some work to get Bran to like him. At best now, the boy tolerated him.  
   
One good thing was that Arthur had finally found out who he’d been possessed by – a version of himself from an alternate reality. According to Bran, a much better Arthur…but considering the other Arthur was his birth father, of course Bran would be biased. And Bran appeared to have the tendency to get defensive a lot, and he definitely wasn’t one to back down.  
   
The boy would probably be the death of him.  
   
“I have been getting odd flashes of memories and I’ve been having dreams…er, with you in them,” Merlin confided in him, blushing a bit in embarrassment.  
   
Arthur quirked his eyebrow. “Really, Merlin? Care to share them in detail?” He asked slyly.  
   
Merlin gave him a look. “Not a chance,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry though that you’ve remembered while I haven’t. Lancelot and Gwen haven’t remembered either. But with you here, maybe that’ll help us,” he said hopefully.  
   
Arthur muttered his agreement, leaning toward Merlin and placing his hand strategically on Merlin’s upper thigh.  
   
“What if physical contact is the key?” Arthur ventured.  
   
“I don’t know…you may remember, but to me, I’ve just met you, Arthur,” Merlin reminded him.  
   
Arthur smiled. “But you’ve met me in your dreams. Surely that counts?” He teased.  
   
“Okay…well, we could try,” Merlin agreed. “But I should let you know… I’m a virgin.”

Arthur thought Merlin looked like he wanted to cover his head with a brown paper bag.  
   
“What about when you remember, I can see to despoiling you,” Arthur offered, looking highly amused.  
   
Merlin groaned. “I hate you,” he told him without much heat. “But yeah, that would be good. I just, I want to do it _properly_ if it’s with you. I want to remember all of you. That sounds stupid. I don’t know. You know what I mean.”  
   
“I do,” Arthur said, then because he couldn’t resist, he kissed Merlin.  
   
Merlin proved receptive to the kiss, his lips were soft, and he opened his mouth slightly. Arthur lightly teased his tongue inside Merlin’s mouth and Merlin let out a moan as their tongues collided. Merlin lay back down on the bed as Arthur moved on top of him.  
   
Arthur broke away from Merlin for a moment. “Do you remember yet?” He asked.  
   
“Patience is a virtue,” Merlin only said in a slightly annoying singsong voice. He grinned at Arthur mischievously. “Shut up and kiss me,” he ordered.  
   
Arthur was all too ready to oblige him.  
   
~ * ~  
   
When Arthur went to sleep that night in his room, which was nicely located next to Merlin’s, he almost wished he hadn’t gone to sleep.  
   
The dream had started out pleasant enough. Merlin was in the dream, lying on the bed, naked and looking completely relaxed as he had his full attention on Arthur. His blue eyes had a daring, mischievous sparkle to them.  
   
Arthur surveyed Merlin before him, carefully, wanting to drink all of him in.  
   
He started kissing his neck, hitting the pulse point, and then…  
   
Arthur felt fangs extend from his mouth. Like a vampire of all things. And his fangs latched onto Merlin’s neck, drinking blood from him.  
   
He was horrified at what he was doing, but he couldn’t stop himself in the dream.  
   
Arthur woke up by sheer force of will before he could see if the dream would end in Merlin’s death.  
   
What the hell…? Why had he dreamed that he was a bloody vampire? Was this the work of that Lord of the Dark? Was this how Arthur was being affected?  
   
Arthur checked his teeth and he thought they all felt normal. He didn’t feel an unusual thirst for blood either. Maybe it would just remain a bad dream. Though he worried what else the Black Rider had in store to mess with him.  
   
~ * ~  
   
The next day, Arthur saw Gwen and Lancelot in the lounge area. He had already reunited with them the previous day. He was curious to know where Merlin was since he wasn’t in his room that morning. Arthur had debated about seeing Merlin after that horrible dream, but a niggling part of him wanted to make sure Merlin was all right. Seeing Merlin losing life in front of him, as a result of his actions, had made Arthur rather anxious.  
   
“Hey, Gwen, Lancelot,” Arthur said to them. “Do you know where Merlin is?” He asked them as he sat down.  
   
“Good morning, Arthur,” Gwen said with a smile. Lancelot said the same. “Merlin has gone with Bran to Will and Bran’s reality. I think it has to do with getting more food. Will said we might need more. There are some other things they need to get too. And since their reality doesn’t have the Dark, it’s safer to spend time there.”  
   
“Right…” Arthur said. “Merlin and Bran are getting along well then?” He concluded.  
   
“Oh yes, very well. Merlin gets the chance to play the big brother. It’s sweet,” Gwen noted.  
   
Arthur frowned.  
   
“Not happy about it, mate?” Lancelot put in knowingly.  
   
“No, no. I get it. Bran’s not had an easy life and I just got here. I understand if bonds have been formed already. I’m not going to throw a tantrum about it,” Arthur said reasonably.  
   
“The fact you’re even mentioning throwing one…” Lancelot noted wryly.  
   
“I’ll just shut up now,” Arthur grumbled.  
   
“Anyway, so Will’s not at the Sanctuary either. He’s gone somewhere else for his recovery. Poor boy,” Gwen said sympathetically. “But there are usually other Old Ones about this place. They don’t show themselves too often, but you can sort of sense that they’re there. Merriman might be here.”  
   
“He had an urgent matter to deal with. He might still be wrapped up with that,” Arthur figured. “I haven’t met him yet.”  
   
“So it’s still only Lancelot and me who’ve met him. That’s odd,” Gwen remarked.  
   
“I think we both know why that’s the case,” Lancelot said to Gwen. They exchanged secretive looks with each other.  
   
“What does it matter if I see Merriman or not?” Arthur interjected, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice.  
   
“No reason!” Gwen answered quickly. “And it’s best you know this sooner rather than later… but as a part of ending this apocalypse…”  
   
“…you have to pull Excalibur out of a stone,” Lancelot finished.  
   
“Oh, well, that sounds completely original,” Arthur commented drily. “And what’s the catch?”  
   
“The location, Arthur… it’s in the Dark’s stronghold,” Lancelot told him unhappily. “Somehow they got a hold of it. Gwen and I will help you get to the sword and I think we’ll have Merlin’s magic to help us too.”  
   
“Is Merlin coming?”  
   
He shook his head. “It’s too risky,” Lancelot said. “There’s the chance the Dark will trap Merlin and find a way to drain his magic. And the last thing we need is the Dark having Merlin’s magic at their disposal. But luckily there is a way for us to ‘siphon’ some of Merlin’s magic from him. That way he could remain where it’s safer for him.”  
   
“Merlin hates being stuck here. That’s why he jumped at the chance to go with Bran to the other reality,” Gwen explained. Then she amended, “ _Actually_ , Bran chose Merlin to go with him.”  
   
Arthur considered the pros and cons of banging his head against the wall.  
   
On the upside, he looked forward to getting Excalibur back.  
   
~ * ~  
   
In Bran’s reality in the year 1978, he and Merlin had parted ways, planning to meet later to eat. Bran wondered if maybe they should have stuck together. But still, he felt like this was something he should take care of on his own. So with that thought, he slipped into an alleyway. He had sensed someone who should not exist, and yet the person did. But as to the purpose of the person being here in this reality and time, Bran couldn't say.   
   
“I know who you are,” Bran said, no doubt in his words or thought.  
   
The dark-haired boy looked the same age as him. His blue eyes glittered with intent as he surveyed Bran. “Do you? And here I don’t feel surprised,” the boy said with a lazy smile.  
   
Bran stepped away from him. “You should leave now. I won’t listen to anything you have to say.”  
   
“Oh, I have nothing against you. I just want to talk,” the boy said casually. “We are alike in some ways. Our respective birth fathers carry the same name and we both grew up in a time not our own. But where you were born as a freak of nature--”  
   
“You’re an _affront_ to nature,” Bran shot back viciously.  
   
The boy smiled. “You should be grateful, Bran Davies, that we are from different realities. That you are still the sole holder of your _blessed_ birthright,” he said sarcastically.  
   
“If you’re not going to tell me what your business is here, then you should just go,” Bran told him.  
   
But the boy did not leave. He kept smiling and it honestly worried Bran. He closed the distance between him and Bran, and he reached out, grabbing hold of Bran’s forearm.  
   
“Let me go,” Bran demanded of him.  
   
The boy’s grip remained strong. “You won’t scream. I just need a little something from you. You’ll live,” he assured him, though his smile was cold.  
   
“I won’t keep quiet about you, you know that, Mordred,” Bran warned him.  
   
“Yes, go ahead. Go tell your Old One about me. Tell him that Mordred said hello,” Mordred said with a smug smile. “Now hold still,” he told Bran.  
   
Bran tried to pull away from him when Mordred took out a dagger and a vial.  
   
“What are you doing?” Bran wanted to know.  
   
He tried to wrestle out of Mordred’s grip.  
   
“I _said_ , hold _still_ , or I will have to knock you out.”  
   
Bran stilled, not particularly wanting to be knocked out.  
   
“Good,” Mordred commented when Bran had stopped fighting. “I told you I don’t plan to kill you,” he reminded him.  
   
“And I’m not going to believe you for one moment,” Bran retorted.  
   
Mordred shrugged. He took the dagger and cut into Bran’s palm. Bran started glowing a strange white light as blood welled up in his palm. Mordred took the vial and collected enough blood to fill it.  
   
Once he was done, closing the vial afterwards, Mordred healed the cut on Bran’s palm. The glow coming from Bran subsided and was soon gone.  
   
“You’re welcome,” Mordred said, meaning for the healing he’d done. He put away the vial and the dagger in his jacket pocket.  
   
“Go to hell,” Bran only said. He ripped his arm away from Mordred’s now loosened grip.  
   
“What did you need my blood for?” Bran asked him, but he doubted Mordred would answer him truthfully if at all.  
   
Mordred got into his personal space again. He touched Bran’s cheek, almost gently.  
   
“Don’t touch me,” Bran said to him forcefully. “Go be weird somewhere else.”  
   
“He _will_ abandon you. That is their nature,” Mordred told him quietly, moving his finger along Bran’s lips.  
   
Bran’s golden eyes flashed in clear anger and he moved away from him. Then before Mordred could say another word, Bran punched him in the face.  
   
“You _don’t_ know anything, you rotten bastard,” he said fiercely.  
   
Bran walked out of the alleyway. Mordred covered his face in his hands, hands coming away with blood.  
   
Despite the hit, Mordred felt pleased. He had gotten what he had come for.  
   
 ~ * ~  
   
“Are you all right?” Merlin asked Bran, sliding into the booth across from him. He set his few bags of things, mostly food and other essentials, down beside him.  
   
Bran was wearing his dark glasses and looking down in his cup like he was frustrated by the liquid inside of it.  
   
Looking up, Bran shrugged. “I’m fine.”  
   
“You don’t look it,” Merlin commented.  
   
“I just don’t want to talk about it,” Bran admitted. “I ordered the pizza,” he then said.  
   
“Okay. I was wondering…where does your father, your adoptive father, think you are?”  
   
Bran smiled. “Oh, Will settled that. But of course he thinks I’m with Will, which isn’t far from the truth. Anyway, he’s not stupid. He always knew who my true father was. A woman named Gwen coming out of the Cader Idris, The Seat of Arthur…it’s not particularly hard to figure out. My father always had that feeling I was different, not counting my strange appearance, of course,” he added, his lips quirking into a smile.  
   
“What is it like for you at home?” Merlin asked him.  
   
“Well, one time I felt like I was locked up in jail,” Bran recalled. “My father is very religious, you see – he’s a deacon. I can’t go to the cinema, can’t do anything on Sundays except walk about the hills. Honestly, when Will came and I helped him to defeat the Dark, that was the most excitement I had had in a while.”  
   
“So your father’s pretty strict with you?” Merlin deduced.  
   
“Well now, I suppose, he’s getting better,” Bran conceded. “But still, if you want to know how I was raised, there you are… I did have this dog though. I loved him more than anything,” Bran stopped there, shaking his head. He didn’t look like he wanted to continue.  
   
“Is the dog…?” Merlin asked quietly.  
   
“He was shot and killed by a mad man,” Bran said bitterly, looking rather upset as he spoke.  
   
“That’s horrible. What was the dog’s name?”  
   
“Cafall,” Bran told him, his voice breaking a little with the pain of the loss.  
   
Merlin reached out his hand to squeeze Bran’s. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely.  
   
Bran returned the pressure, but he remained silent. Wisely, Merlin ventured into a lighter topic just as the pizza arrived.  
   
~ * ~


	4. Mordred's Lullaby

**Title:** Trembling on the Edge (Chapter 4)  
 **Author:** dk323  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Word Count:** 6,229  
 **Characters/Pairings:** Merlin/Arthur, Lancelot/Gwen, Will Stanton, Bran Davies, Mordred, Freya, OC   
 **Warnings:** Character death (off-screen; not Merlin or Arthur), unsettling scenes, swearing  
 **Disclaimer:** The show Merlin is property of the BBC. The Dark Is Rising book series is property of Susan Cooper. Some elements inspired by the 2010 film, “Never Let Me Go.”  
 **Summary:** As darkness descends, six people come together to save the world. Nothing will ever be the same again.

 **Chapter 4:** Not all is as it seems with Mordred. A secret is kept. Meanwhile, a troubled Arthur continues to face the consequences of his meeting with the Black Rider.

Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot go to retrieve Excalibur from the Dark’s stronghold.

 **Author’s Note:** Mordred’s middle name is Gwydion, and he sometimes goes by that name. Gwydion is another name for Mordred in Arthurian legend either way…I believe it was another name for King Arthur too.

~ * ~  
   
 **Chapter 4:** Mordred’s Lullaby ~  
 

“Hey. Welcome back,” Arthur said to Merlin.  
   
Merlin was in the midst of putting food and drinks away in the refrigerator. He paused, turning around to face Arthur when he spoke.  
   
He looked happy to see Arthur. “Hi, thanks. Yeah, I’m back. Never thought I’d get a chance to time travel. Will brought us back and Bran looked like he wanted to talk to him about something important. I have a bad feeling about it…something must have happened to Bran when we split up. And Bran wouldn’t tell me what it was,” Merlin said, sounding a bit anxious, biting his lip.  
   
“I’m sure whatever it is, Will knows how to handle it,” Arthur assured him.  
   
Arthur was horrified when his gaze shifted to Merlin’s neck, and he could hear the blood. _Merlin’s_ blood as it pulsed through his body. He tried his best to suppress this sudden inclination, to want to press his lips, sink his teeth into Merlin’s neck, but it was hard. Damn it. He did _not_ need this right now.  
   
Merlin looked at Arthur strangely. “Arthur? Are you all right?”  
   
“Just don’t move,” Arthur said softly. He breathed in and out in an attempt to relax himself.  
   
“What? I don’t understand,” Merlin said, confused.  
   
Arthur moved closer to him, and then he kissed him feather light on the lips. He went down lower, to Merlin’s neck and he felt a desperate want to bite him there. To leave a bite mark that everyone could see. So that everyone would _know_ … a mark that wouldn’t fade for a long time.  
   
“I just wanted to say hello,” Arthur told him.  
   
Merlin smiled, accepting, at him. “All right,” he acknowledged. He then coursed both of his hands through Arthur’s blond locks as Arthur continued to kiss him.  
   
Then Arthur sucked on his neck, his teeth skimming against the pale skin. Only Merlin’s abrupt cry of surprise made him pull back. Arthur realized that he had broken the skin, a small bit of blood welled up on Merlin’s neck, blemishing the pale surface.  
   
Merlin put his fingers over the offending spot on his neck. He was mildly alarmed to see blood smeared on his fingers.  
   
“I’m sorry. I don’t know how that happened. I’ll get a bandage or something for you… I didn’t mean to,” Arthur said hurriedly. He left the kitchen, unwilling to remain in close proximity to Merlin.  
   
As Arthur departed in a rush, Merlin stared after him with a puzzled expression. What was going on with Arthur?   
    
~ * ~  
   
“And Mordred healed you?” Will asked.  
   
The two of them were sitting cross-legged across from each other on the bed. Will held Bran’s hand in his own, observing his palm. He traced one finger over his open hand along a now non-existent wound.  
   
“Yes, but I’m sure he only did it so no one would ask questions. I did tell him I would tell you, yet--” He paused, shrugging.  
   
“It doesn’t make sense that he would heal someone he’s meant to hate, to view as the enemy,” Will pointed out calmly. He let go of Bran’s hand. 

“Yes, but I told you. Mordred _did_ act weirdly with me. He called me a freak and he touched me…” Bran argued defensively. 

Will sighed. “When you first met me, you told me what others called you at school. I don’t like that you have to deal with that, but no matter where Mordred’s allegiances lie…”  
   
Bran looked incredulous. “He’s still our age, so what – I’m supposed to take him like one of the boys at school who insult me?”  
   
“It’s cruel, yes, but it could be as simple as that. At the end of the day, he’s just a 13-year old boy trying to figure things out. And it’s natural that he’s inclined to hate you. Maybe Mordred was trying to unnerve you to make himself feel better. From what you told me, the contact didn’t seem like anything more than making you uncomfortable.”  
   
“What is it? What do you know?” Bran ventured. “Why are you trying to defend Mordred? The Black Rider most likely raised him. He’s a creature of the Dark.”  
   
“Mordred healing you helps to prove that he’s more of a grey area. Those of the Dark don’t heal using magic, or they don’t make a habit of it. Healing is a kinder magic, something that the Dark doesn’t favour. For him to use healing magic on you, an enemy of his…is a rare almost unheard of event. In a way, he was almost nice to you…” Will suggested thoughtfully.  
   
“Seriously?” Bran said in disbelief. “His mother shot and killed you, which I’m still not happy about. Any son of hers can’t be trusted!” He declared fiercely.  
   
“You forget who his father is,” Will reminded him gently.  
   
Bran huffed. “Straight out of an Arthurian text, Arthur gets tricked into having relations with a dark sorceress…with a modern twist,” he remarked dismissively. “Did Merriman tell you anything?”  
   
Will nodded. “Merriman’s urgent business involved Mordred. He found out that Mordred’s mother was taken 13 years into the past thanks to the Dark. She carried her child for nine months there. Not long after Mordred was born, Morgana died. The belief was that Mordred’s magic was so powerful that the cost of giving birth to such a child was a heavy one.”  
   
“Considering what she did to you, I don’t know if I feel too sorry about her dying,” Bran remarked frankly.  
   
Will looked particularly weary then. He seemed to carry a burden meant for a much older man. “She was manipulated by the Dark. She was a victim as a result, but due to her past life as a sorceress of dark magic, Morgana did have that inclination to side with the likes of the Dark. Still, Mordred _knows_ why his mother died, that his coming into the world caused her death. It's an awful thing to live with,” he said grimly.  
   
After a long moment of silence, Bran finally said, “I still feel like punching Mordred,” he decided.  
   
“That’s what your instincts are telling you, but like it or not, Merriman told me that Mordred _is_ the key.” Will stated resolutely.  
   
“The key to what?”  
   
“To the Light having a bigger chance of winning. There are the other factors to consider, as you know, but Mordred’s aid would be a great advantage to us. His magic is unlike anything we’ve seen before,” Will confided in him. “Not even Merlin will be able to possess that sort of magic in this life. We also need to make sure Arthur and the others remain unaware of Mordred’s existence. It’s not right to keep this secret; but we need to tread lightly now.”  
   
“You have to be joking! Mordred might as well be called Lucifer. He’d never aid the Light,” Bran argued in outrage.  
   
“I told you, Bran. Mordred is a grey area. And while Mordred’s mother may have worked for the Dark, his father is a good man at the heart of it. A child borne of the Dark and the Light… he could be swayed to either side. Even if Mordred’s been raised by the Dark, we can't dismiss him so easily,” Will said.  
   
Bran groaned. “This is bollocks,” he muttered.  
   
Will gave him a small smile, grasping his shoulder in an attempt at comforting him.  
   
Bran lay back down on the bed while Will shifted position so that he sat beside him. “What do you think he needed my blood for?” Bran wondered. “There are a lot of things blood could be used for, right? A lot of dark magic rituals and the like…”  
   
“Since the Dark knows we need to get Excalibur… maybe he took some of your blood to go toward hindering our success there. We will see. I’m planning to give Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot some of Merlin’s magic tomorrow. Then they can go to retrieve the sword.”  
   
“And let’s hope that whatever brilliant plan Mordred’s put together to cock it up, doesn’t _actually_ cock it up…” Bran said hopefully.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“Arthur, are you going to be okay?” Merlin asked him in concern. “Going to retrieve Excalibur? You’re worrying me,” he noted.  
   
Arthur shook his head. He tried not to look at the small, round bandage now covering the wound on Merlin’s neck.  
   
“I know how important this is. I want to get my sword back more than anything. I’ll have Gwen and Lancelot with me. We’ll be fine,” Arthur reassured, trying his utmost to not make it look like his smile was forced.  
   
“And all of you have some of my magic too. That should help,” Merlin said.  
   
Arthur’s jaw clenched. He nodded stiffly. “Yes. You’ll be with us in spirit, I suppose,” he remarked.  
   
Merlin sighed, looking frustrated. “I hate having to stay here like this, but if I’m glad I could help out in some way,” he said gratefully. Then he reached up a hand to Arthur’s cheek, cradling it. “It was just an accident, Arthur. So you bit me. I’m not bleeding to death now, am I?” He teased him, giving him a half-smile.  
   
Before Arthur could say anything in reply, Merlin kissed him on the lips. Pulling away, he said, “I want to remember so much. You don’t know… I wish, well…we just have to be optimistic about it,” Merlin mused.  
   
“If you want it enough, it’ll happen,” Arthur assured him, though he wasn’t sure himself about how much he believed those words.  
   
Then a vision of Merlin lying dead on a bed -- blood all around him, but especially pooling near his neck -- assaulted Arthur. The blackest horse he’d ever seen was the next image he saw. The riderless horse was neighing and looking ready to charge as it reared up. Arthur swore he heard cruel laughter before the vision faded away.  
   
He felt Merlin shaking his shoulders. “Arthur? Arthur? What’s wrong?” He asked him anxiously.  
   
Arthur tried to smile reassuringly, but he was certain it came out as more of a grimace.  
   
“It was nothing,” Arthur said firmly.  
   
Merlin didn’t look especially convinced, but then there was a knock on Arthur’s bedroom door.  
   
“Please don’t worry about it, Merlin. I’m fine, all right? Better than ever,” Arthur tried to impress upon him, his tone almost earnest.  
   
He went to answer the door.  
   
Bran was at the door. “Hello. Will needs to speak to you, Gwen, and Lancelot,” he said in a businesslike tone.  
   
He looked a bit annoyed to be talking to Arthur.  
   
“Right,” Arthur said.  
   
“Bye then,” Bran dismissed him, intimating that he should go at that moment.  
   
“Look, I know you have a problem with me…but if you could just make an effort?” Arthur suggested.  
   
“I don’t hate you,” Bran said curtly.  
   
That was all Arthur got out of the boy. He left the room, feeling a bit defeated.  
   
He only heard Bran greeting Merlin in a friendlier way before Bran shut the door soon after Arthur departed.  
   
He couldn’t hear them anymore after that.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“Gwydion!” The girl exclaimed with a laugh. “Not fair! I’m wearing a dress and fancy shoes,” she defended.  
   
Her cheeks were red from the exertion as she stopped running.  
   
Gwydion grinned at her for a brief moment. “No matter if you’re wearing trainers, I’m still going to beat you. You know I’m a fast runner, _Charlotte_ ,” he said with intent.

She shoved him in the shoulder, frowning at him. “It’s Charlie. You know I don’t like being called by my long name, _Mordred_. Next time I’m wearing proper trainers,” Charlie declared, brushing aside a stray lock of her white-blonde hair.  
   
She went inside the room, the intended destination of their little race. With gusto, she shut the door in Mordred’s face.  
   
“Oh, don’t be like that. I think you’re very pretty. There. I gave you a compliment!” He said to her in front of the closed door.  
   
“You’ve got your priorities mixed up!” Charlie said with a giggle.  
   
Mordred twisted the doorknob and realized that Charlie had locked the door. But he knew he could get through any locked door. Smiling to himself, he opened the door using magic, his blue eyes flashing a pure, eerie white as he released some of his magic.  
   
In the room, he found Charlie lying on the foot of the bed. She was lying on her stomach, her lace and satin white dress smoothly arranged underneath her to prevent creases.  
   
She was looking at the big TV screen positioned in front of the bed. Her elbow-length black silk gloves covered her hands which she had under her chin.  
   
“The three of them are here,” Charlie announced.    
   
But Mordred didn’t look at the screen, not even a glance.  
   
“You’re lucky to know who your mother and father is,” Charlie remarked a bit wistfully when Mordred remained silent.  
   
“I’ve not had a chance to forget it. Trust me, Charlie, I’d do anything to have the mystery that you have about who your parents are. You’re luckier than me,” Mordred told her honestly.  
   
“Aren’t you even slightly interested in--?” She asked him.  
   
“While I don’t believe a word of what the Black Rider has told me all my life, it still…” he paused, shaking his head. “I’m not interested at all,” he said with finality.  
   
Charlie looked at him sadly. Then she climbed off the bed to get a closer glimpse at the images on the screen.  
   
“You have his eyes,” she decided, but when she turned to Mordred, she discovered that he had already gone.  
   
“There are always color contacts, I suppose,” Charlie mused to herself. Then more somberly, she said quietly, “Oh Gwydion.”  
   
She felt sorry for him.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“Please don’t tell me that’s a dead woman in that boat,” Gwen said grimly.  
   
The young woman was lying face down in the wooden boat. Her long, brunette hair flowed down her back and a headpiece made of flowers circled her head. Her dress was white and it certainly looked like something a woman from the medieval era would wear. Arthurian times, even. Arthur wasn’t too surprised if that was the intent.  
   
Lancelot knelt down and gently turned the woman around. Her eyes were closed but one could tell by her face that she had been an attractive woman. She surely must have turned heads during her lifetime.  
   
He checked her pulse and nodded. “She’s definitely dead. But from the look of her, it seems like it was just yesterday. Maybe she’s being preserved magically?” Lancelot concluded.  
   
“What is this then? To just freak us out?” Arthur wondered.  
   
“It looks like it. This ‘stronghold of the Dark’ seems like it’s more of a haunted mansion,” Lancelot remarked.  
   
“Oh look. Her hand,” Gwen pointed out.  
   
On the inside of the dead woman’s right hand, the words, “The Lady Elaine” were written. The ink was red and none of them wanted to verify whether it was blood or paint. Some things were best left unknown.  
   
“A haunted mansion with an Arthurian theme, clearly,” Arthur figured.  
   
Gwen put her hand on her brow. Lancelot squeezed her shoulder to comfort her. She smiled at him in gratitude. She declared, “I swear if there’s a room with a Round Table with all the knights sitting around it, with their throats slit and bleeding all over the table… I’d be sorely tempted to leave.”  
   
“Wherever did you get that idea from, Guinevere? Your mind must be a fascinating place,” Arthur joked with her.  
   
“Oh be quiet you,” she shot back at him.  
   
“Didn’t you tell me that All Hallow’s Eve was your favorite holiday, love?” Lancelot asked her, smiling.  
   
“No, I never said that,” Gwen denied quickly. “Anyway, we should be getting on…” she trailed off when a girl appeared in front of them.  
   
The girl had white-blonde hair, not as white as Bran’s but it was close, and clear blue eyes.  
   
She looked about thirteen, the same age as Will and Bran, and she was a right princess in her lace-sleeved white satin dress. Her lace sleeves were short, and black silk gloves went up to her elbows. A black ribbon held some of her hair back.  
   
“Hello. I’m Charlotte, but you should call me Charlie. I’m here to show you where Excalibur is. I know you don’t trust me, but I can make this a shorter ordeal for you…if you’re willing to take the chance,” she offered.  
   
“We know where Excalibur is. Thanks, but we don’t need your help. And we don’t trust you,” Arthur said resolutely.  
   
“Of course you don’t trust me. I am only extending a courtesy to you…you know it’s behind one of the doors, but do you know which one?” She inquired reasonably.  
   
“Why are you helping us?” Arthur wanted to know, unnerved by the girl. “If you live here, then clearly you’re working for the Dark.”  
   
“The Lords of the Dark have been very kind to me. I was abandoned not long after I was born and I was saved by a Lord of the Dark. As to why I’m helping you, well, I don’t want you here anymore than any of you want to be here. So I’m simply speeding up the process.”  
   
Arthur took note that Charlie hadn’t confirmed or denied that she was working for the Dark. Of course, the fact that she was saved by the one of the Lords of the Dark definitely implied that she was working under the Dark’s agenda; but implications left room for doubt.  
   
“Are you alone here in this mansion?” Gwen asked her.  
   
Charlie only smiled. “That’s not important. Do you want me to direct all of you or not?” She offered yet again.  
   
Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot talked it over amongst themselves, and they decided to take her offer. No harm done, right?  
   
She led the three of them down a long hallway. The door they had to enter was at the end of the corridor.  
   
The girl left them after she pointed out the door to the three.  
   
Arthur discovered that the door was firmly locked, so he used the magic Merlin had given him to open the door.  
   
“Oh my,” Gwen breathed out.  
   
The door opened not to reveal a room, but instead, the door opened to the outside. Or at least the illusion of being outside. The limits of magic were unfathomable apparently.  
   
There were hills and mountains ahead of them. They were currently standing in a flat grassy area.  
   
They walked for a little bit and then Arthur peered upward. “I think Excalibur is in a stone on top of one of those hills. I feel a pull toward the sword… if I just follow that,” Arthur ventured thoughtfully.  
   
“It’s your sword. It’s best for you to lead the way,” Lancelot said agreeably.  
   
Gwen nodded. “Yes, we’ll follow you.”  
   
It wasn’t a quiet walk and then climbing up the hill, unfortunately. They had to contend with bloodthirsty wolves, which the three of them knew how to stun with their borrowed magic. It proved effective enough, but Arthur dearly wished to get Excalibur when wolf after wolf kept charging at them. Though having magic to defend himself now was nice, he felt like he’d do better with Excalibur. He didn’t think he’d truly quite feel like himself without his cherished sword that he had fought many a battle with.  
   
What really threw all of them off were the sheep that had come in to attack them. _Killer sheep._  
   
The surprise of it even had Gwen swearing, “What the fuck?” She had remarked in disbelief as they put each of the sheep into a deep sleep.  
   
But eventually, they reached the top of the hill that had Excalibur.  
   
Arthur smiled gratefully at the sight of his sword.  
   
Gwen and Lancelot stood a little way behind him as Arthur went up to the stone encasing. Arthur was puzzled when he noticed that the sword hilt was coated in blood.  
   
He tried to wipe off the blood with his hand, but the blood stayed as if it hadn’t even been disturbed.  
   
“Try using magic to take it off,” Lancelot suggested.  
   
Arthur did, but irritatingly, the blood stayed on the hilt as if it had been super-glued on there.  
   
With a resigned sigh, Arthur decided that he should pull out his sword and deal with the blood later.  
   
Except when he pulled at the hilt of the sword to get out Excalibur, the sword wouldn’t budge. Arthur tried again, but still, Excalibur remained trapped in the stone.  
   
“It’s _my_ sword. I’m meant to pull it out,” Arthur voiced out loud. He knew he probably sounded like a petulant child, but this was _ridiculous._  
   
Before Lancelot and Gwen could offer him any suggestions, the three of them were swept off their feet and disappeared from the hilltop.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“Need a hand?”  
   
Will looked up at the dark-haired boy who reached out his hand to him.  
   
“No. I just need to sit for a moment. I’ve not been feeling the best lately,” Will said frankly.  
   
His back rested against the stone Excalibur was still stuck in.   
   
Bran went to Will and gave him his hand, pulling him up without a word. Will just sighed and shook his head, thanking Bran.  
   
Bran turned to Mordred. “And you think you’re so clever. You didn’t think we’d come here at all, is that it? That’s why you put my blood on the hilt.”  
   
“I said I had nothing against you. And who says that the adults need to do everything?” Mordred remarked with a shrug.  
   
“Excalibur is rightfully Arthur’s. The apocalypse is happening in his reality, so his sword needs to be used. If it were Bran’s reality, then that’d be a different story. But Eirias has already been used in the last battle. Its time for now has past. What you’ve done is _wrong_ ,” Will informed him.  
   
“I prevented the sword from getting into the hands of its true wielder. I count that as a success for me,” Mordred said, looking inordinately pleased. “Anyway, if I can be honest here, this was mostly to do with getting you two here. I need to tell you something…”  
   
“What – that you’re a complete wanker?” Bran retorted, his arms crossed against his chest.  
   
Mordred smiled viciously at him. “Eirias wasn’t even your sword, not really. It was just your father’s sword and because you were his legitimate son, you could pull it out. I found out that legitimacy is important to have. I would be able to pull out Excalibur otherwise,” Mordred said, his tone bitter and a little sad too.  
   
“What do you need Excalibur for anyway?” Bran wondered.  
   
“Who wouldn’t want that sword?” Mordred retorted. Then he walked up to Bran, getting into his personal space. “I’m also sure that an angel must have accidentally dropped a whole bucket of bleach on you before you were born.”  
   
Bran looked furious.  
   
Will stepped in between them, pushing them away from each other. “That’s _enough_.”  
   
“I’m sure the devil smothered ash from the fires of hell into your hair. That’s why it’s as black as your heart,” Bran shot back at him.  
   
Mordred raised his brow. “Really?”  
   
“Bran, please!” Will asked almost desperately of him. His hands were shaking and he looked about ready to collapse. “I need you to pull out Excalibur. We need to move it to the lake after that. Excalibur can only be pulled out once from the stone.”  
   
Bran deflated when he recognized how unsteady Will was looking. “Are you okay? I’m sorry,” he said honestly.  
   
Will sat down again. “It’s just the Dark… it’s worse here. Like they’re closing in on me. If you could just pull out the sword and give it to me, then I’d be grateful for that.”  
   
Bran nodded and he went to pull out Excalibur. The sword pulled out easily for him because of his blood on the hilt.  
   
His blood vanished from the sword’s hilt once it was removed from the stone.  
   
Bran looked a bit awed by the sword, but he thought that he didn’t get the same feeling of rightness when he had held Eirias all those months ago.  
   
Will stood up and Bran handed the sword to him. Will then put it inside the scabbard he had brought for the occasion.  
   
“I made a lake at the bottom of the hill,” Mordred announced.  
   
“What just _now_?” Bran said incredulously.  
   
“Yes. I can do a lot of things with barely a thought,” Mordred explained nonchalantly.  
   
“So you’re a show-off. Nice,” Bran shot back.

“It’s one of the few enjoyments I get out of my life,” he quipped.  
   
Will cleared his throat loudly. “Sorry to interrupt, but I need to throw Excalibur into the lake. Bran, you’re coming with me.”  
   
“All right. And then Arthur will retrieve it?” Bran assumed.  
   
Will nodded.  
   
“I transported them back in front of the locked door leading to this place. Like a boomerang,” Mordred confided in them, lips twisting into an amused smile. “They should return here and find the lake.”  
   
“And are you planning on messing that up too? Drowning him maybe?” Bran accused of him.  
   
Mordred gave a twisted smile. “What a great idea. I’ll add that to my list.”  
   
“The Dark can only hinder and delay Arthur’s claiming of the sword. Since they know full well that they stole Excalibur, they can’t deny the rightful owner from gaining it in the end. Killing Arthur to stop him would be against the High Law. If they think that they can succeed, they're deluding themselves,” Will explained self-assuredly.   
   
“Delusions of grandeur. I may be suffering from that,” Mordred announced idly. He didn’t sound too serious about it.  
   
“I wouldn’t be surprised. And what are you going to do when Will and I are at the lake? Perform a demon summoning?” Bran asked in a caustic tone.  
   
“I only do those on Sundays,” Mordred said, shrugging.  
   
“Are you _really_ helping us or are you just here to be annoying?” Bran wondered.  
   
“Isn’t that the eternal question?” Mordred asked vaguely. “I have my own reasons for what I do,” he said in a guarded tone.  
   
“Well okay. If you want to be secretive,” Bran said dismissively.  
   
“Anyway, you two should do the sword in the lake thing. I’ll be here when you return. Then we can really get started,” Mordred declared.  
   
“All right. Come on, Bran,” Will said to him, beckoning him forward.  
   
As the pair climbed downhill, Mordred disappeared magically once he was out of sight from the two. He had a matter of his own to take care of.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“Are you feeling better, Arthur?” Gwen asked, a deep note of concern in her voice. “About not getting Excalibur?”  
   
“I think talking to that Merlin helped,” Arthur said optimistically. “I know I shouldn’t trust anyone who lives here, but still it’s Merlin…and I couldn’t help but trust him. He said he was a construct pulled from a book, that his mind was his own.”  
   
“Arthur, I hate to say this, but are you sure you were talking to a living person? Because when we looked, we saw the man you were talking to with his head on the desk, and blood coming from his neck. The blood was staining his beard,” Lancelot informed him uneasily. “It was unnerving to see you acting like he was talking to you when I swear that man was dead.”  
   
Gwen nodded in agreement.  
   
Arthur frowned. He re-opened the door to the room he had encountered that other version of Merlin. He still saw him there, very much alive. His head was bent over a book and he was taking notes as well.  
   
“I don’t see a dead man. Maybe the both of you were supposed to see him differently,” Arthur concluded reasonably.  
   
“I must admit it’s eerie. I won’t be much for sleeping tonight,” Gwen said honestly.  
   
Arthur let out a long sigh. He peeked into the room again. “I don’t see him anymore. What about you two?” He asked.  
   
Gwen and Lancelot looked into the room as well. They both shook their heads. “We don’t see him anymore either,” Gwen confirmed, though she still seemed worried.  
   
“Anyway, alive or dead, Merlin did tell me the sword should be in a lake now in the same place we were just at. I’m sure it was just that blood that stopped me from getting Excalibur. But I won’t let that deter me. So we’re all going to return there,” Arthur decided, a note of finality in his voice.  
   
Gwen and Lancelot couldn’t do anything but agree with that. After all, they needed to get Excalibur no matter what. Even if the pair was of the belief that Arthur had received the information from a dead man.  
   
~ * ~

As soon as Mordred slipped into Merlin’s room within the mansion, the old wizard looked up from his usual place behind his book-laden desk. He had been expecting Mordred to come.  
   
“Did you do it?” Mordred asked Merlin as he shut the door.  
   
He sat down in the empty chair in front of Merlin’s desk.  
   
“There was nothing to be done,” Merlin answered curtly. “The Black Rider certainly did a number on him. I’m glad I didn’t have to do anything. I find the whole business distasteful. I only listened to him.”  
   
Mordred sighed. “Yes, I figured you’d think that. But you read his thoughts though?”  
   
“Yes of course. Just to see how things were progressing. Personally, I think it’ll all come to nothing, but all in all, it is not my problem,” Merlin remarked, a small hint of relief in his tone.  
   
Merlin then peered down at the book he had been studying and made a note on the paper beside the book. The paper was already half full with his notes.  
   
Mordred remained silent, though he personally wanted it to come to _something_. For a little while at least -- to keep things interesting.  
   
“Do you have it?” Mordred asked hopefully. “What I need?”  
   
Merlin smiled. “Yes I do,” he confirmed. He stood up and went to a shelf full of potions on the far side of the room.  
   
He took one of the vials and returned to his desk. Mordred reached out his hand to take the vial from Merlin.  
   
Merlin shook his head, putting the potion out of the boy’s reach. “First, I need to remind you that this is quite a strong potion,” He expressed to him firmly. “You must be careful, my boy. You only need to take a drop of this once a day. I need to monitor you to make sure you won’t deal with any adverse effects. If you could see me regularly, then that would be best.”  
   
“Right. I understand. If I take too much of it, my magic will explode from within me and I’ll die. It’s the price I’m willing to pay,” Mordred declared solemnly.  
   
Merlin nodded. He handed the vial to Mordred who held it carefully in his hand as if it were a precious object.  
   
Merlin assured him, “By taking this potion, no one can take your magic from you by force. You can trust in that. But your magic will be bound tighter to you than ever before. You may need to find ways to release it, to ease the pressure within you. Though as long as you use the potion correctly and see me, then you should be fine.”  
   
“Thank you,” Mordred said sincerely.  
   
He took care to only drink a drop of the potion – made easier by the small opening of the vial.  
   
“I feel it. It’s working. Thank goodness.”  
   
“Of course it would work,” the old Merlin said proudly. “I do have a talent for potions, I would have to say.”  
   
“Yes. Well, I should go… I appreciate what you’ve done for me,” he thanked Merlin.  
   
Merlin inclined his head.  
   
As Mordred went to leave the room, Merlin spoke, “Gwydion, it’s quite all right to be scared. I feel the same way, you know. My memory has been going a bit funny…anyway… But if you can change that fear into a strength, then you will conquer it. Take care, my boy.”  
   
“See you, Merlin,” Mordred said quietly.  
   
He would not face Merlin because he could feel the tears prickling at his eyes. He hurriedly swiped the wetness away and departed from the room.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“Were you able to read Mordred’s mind, Will?” Bran asked him as they reached the conjured lake.  
   
“Yes, which is interesting in of itself. He had particularly strong mental barriers to prevent anyone from reading even his surface thoughts. But he opened them up a bit for me. And we can trust him. I’m sure of that,” Will said confidently.  
   
“What exactly made you think that?” Bran wanted to know.  
   
“The Dark is all about this place. I think it’s better if we discuss this properly back at the Sanctuary. For now, you just have to take my word for it,” Will decided.  
   
“All right. That sounds like the best idea,” Bran agreed.  
   
Will removed the sword from its encasing and then Bran asked, “Can I throw Excalibur into the lake?”  
   
Will raised his brow, but nodded. “Yes, if you want to. As long as it gets into the lake, it doesn’t matter who throws it.”  
   
He gave the sword to Bran who threw it into the water.  
   
Then the pair of them headed back up the hill. Bran wondered if Mordred would truly be there as he promised. But then Will said something to him, causing Bran to scoff weakly, shoving Will in the shoulder. Yet Bran couldn’t help but smile all the same.  
   
~ * ~  
   
“I don’t want to get my shirt wet,” Arthur said as he took it off, and threw it to the ground.  
   
Gwen twisted her lips, trying hard not to smile. “Imagine what people would say if there was a version of the tale where King Arthur goes skinny-dipping to retrieve Excalibur from the lake. Now _that’s_ a story to tell the children,” she declared in an amused tone.  
   
“Gwen, it may look like water, but it’s really _vodka_ … I told you this before,” Lancelot said, teasing her.  
   
“Oh shut up, love,” she retorted.  
   
She pulled Lancelot toward her and kissed him.  
   
“Well, I’m planning to keep my pants on,” Arthur said with a half-smile. He kicked off his shoes and removed his socks too. “Wish me luck.”  
   
“Are you sure you won’t drown, Arthur?” Gwen brought up in deep concern. “This is the Dark’s stronghold after all. They would do anything to stop you from gaining the sword.”  
   
“I have a good feeling about this. And I’m a strong swimmer. I’ll be fine, you’ll see,” Arthur said self-assuredly, his tone arrogant.  
   
Gwen bit her lip, but nodded. Lancelot squeezed her shoulder to comfort her.  
   
“I’m going in after you if anything does go wrong,” Lancelot told him.  
   
“I wouldn’t expect any less from you,” Arthur remarked, clapping him on the shoulder.  
   
He entered the lake, and started swimming and looking for the glint from Excalibur that lay at the lake’s bottom.  
   
When Arthur saw it, he told the others, and he dived toward the sword.  
   
When he grasped the hilt of Excalibur, he felt that nothing could beat this moment of happiness and overwhelming relief.  
   
Clutching the sword, Arthur swam back to the surface. He noticed that the hilt had no blood on it this time around.  
   
He held up the sword to show Gwen and Lancelot that he had gotten it.  
   
They smiled, grateful that he finally had the sword.  
   
Soon after Arthur reached the shore and put back on his shirt, socks and shoes; the three of them placed their hands on the sword.  
   
The sword transported them back to the Sanctuary as they had been told it would.  
   
They had succeeded in getting Excalibur. Despite Arthur’s inner conflict, he still felt like he could taste victory… that the apocalypse would end with the world being safe from the manipulation of the Dark.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Freya dreamed that she was standing before a lake. She looked down at herself to see that she was donned in a deep purple gown, one that she certainly wouldn’t be able to afford.  
   
The water sprites of the lake were calling to her. Freya felt anxious and excited all at once. It was a strange mix of emotions.  
   
“You are the Lady, the Lady of the Lake,” the water sprites said in unison, their voices were like music to her ears. “When we ask it of you, will you come? Will you?” They inquired of her earnestly.  
   
Freya smiled at them. “Of course. Of course I will. I would never turn my back on my calling.”  
   
The sprites danced upon the lake, happy at her words.  
   
The scene changed to her standing in the lake with a sword in her hands. Until the end of time itself, she thought, as she disappeared and took the sword along with her.  
   
When Freya woke up, she couldn’t quite remember what she had dreamed about. But she was sure it had been a good dream, and she couldn’t keep from smiling the rest of the day.  
   
~ * ~


	5. Family, Love and Conflict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has gone through some major editing (scenes removed or altered). I'm planning to continue this story which involves a revamp as I reevaluate aspects of it. 
> 
> I'm excited to dive back into "Trembling on the Edge"-- I miss writing Will and Bran. *hearts*

**Title:** Trembling on the Edge (Chapter 5)  
 **Author:** dk323  
 **Rating:** PG-13  
 **Word Count:** ~ 6,942 (new word count for Ch. 5)           
 **Characters/Pairings** : Merlin/Arthur, Lancelot/Gwen, Mordred, Will Stanton, Bran Davies, OCs  
 **Warnings:** mention of past non-con, underage (no more than kissing), violence (minor), swearing  
 **Beta:** a8c_sock (Thank you! :-))  
 **Disclaimer:** The show Merlin is property of the BBC. The Dark Is Rising book series is property of Susan Cooper. Some elements inspired by the 2010 film, “Never Let Me Go.”  
 **Summary:** As darkness descends, six people come together to save the world. Nothing will ever be the same again.

 **Chapter 5:** Arthur and Merlin’s friendship is left in a precarious position, which could affect the Light’s victory over the Dark. Bran and Mordred continue to be annoyed by one another, and Will gets caught in the middle. Bran becomes a target of Mordred’s antics.

~ * ~  
   
Will and Bran told Mordred that they would go to Wales, in the non-apocalyptic reality, to discuss the situation.  
   
It was early evening when they arrived. They sat in a circle at the base of a hill.  
   
The air was cool, which mirrored Bran’s cool, almost judging look directed at Mordred. Mordred seemed not to care and Will had a far-off look on his face. Bran wondered if he was mentally communicating with another Old One, Merriman most likely. Because his expression was certainly not that different than when he was in the midst of that sort of conversation.  
   
Will spoke first. “What do you need to tell us, Mordred?”  
   
“The Lady has been visiting me since I was young,” Mordred admitted. “She always had the rose-coloured stone ring on her finger…sometimes; she looked younger where she had a heart-shaped face, fair hair…while other times she was in the guise of a small old woman. I don’t think I’ve felt as calm and just, well, happy as when I am in the Lady’s presence,” Mordred revealed, smiling wistfully as he recalled his meetings with her. “But the most important thing I need to tell the both of you is of Merriman visiting me. Not long ago, you see. And he told me that he had faith in me. He said that I needed to memorize some lines, to make you believe in my sincerity…that I was to be trusted.”  
   
“Well say them,” Bran prodded him. He looked irritated.  
   
Will placed his hand over Bran’s, stroking it, as if to calm the paler boy.  
   
Bran swore he detected a hint of envy on Mordred’s face. He gave him a smug look in return as if to say, “You have your magic. I have Will. You get your own dewin. Will is _mine_.”  
   
Mordred saw Bran’s reaction. In answer, Mordred frowned and he shook his head. His face changed to a carefully blank expression. The envy had been wiped away.  
   
“What Merriman told me,” Mordred began, looking directly at Will. “Were these lines:  
   
When light from the lost land shall return,  
Six Sleepers shall ride, six Signs shall burn,  
And where the midsummer tree grows tall--”  
   
“By _my_ sword the Dark shall fall,”Bran finished.  
   
“It’s not ‘my sword’,” Mordred argued.  
   
“Well it has the same meaning,” he said flippantly. “And I was the one who used Eirias in the last apocalypse to cause the fall of the Dark. I have _every_ right to make alterations.”  
   
“Bran, stop it please,” Will interjected lightly. “The three of us need to cooperate. We can’t sit here arguing about the accuracy of the verses. Thank you, Mordred. I’m glad we can count on you.”  
   
“Seriously? I had to do the same thing. Recite a few lines. But this is different. Mordred’s clearly been raised by the Dark. He’s a--”  
   
Will gave him a piercing look. “Bran,” he only said, though his tone was firm.  
   
Mordred looked a bit delighted at Bran being scolded. At seeing that, Bran had the urge to punch him in the face, to wipe that smirk from it.  
   
“Fine,” Bran said a bit bitterly. “Apparently someone trusts you. Lucky you, Mordred. But if you betray us, you will not be left unscathed.”  
   
“What can _you_ do?” Mordred asked in disbelief, directing his question at Bran. “You don’t possess magic, not anywhere near my level at least. You’re just Will’s puppet. A pawn of the Old Ones.”  
   
“Well then so are you,” Bran shot back.  
   
“Of course we all know why you’re enjoying this so much,” Mordred continued on, undeterred. “Rather be involved in stopping the apocalypse than returning home to those who mock you because of your looks. Saying things behind your back. Thinking you’re evil. One of the dangerous, otherworldly Fairy people. A boy so colourless can’t be human. _Not at all._ ”  
   
“You don’t know anything,” Bran retorted fiercely.  
   
“Stop it, the both of you!” Will intervened.  
   
“Isn’t telepathy a magical skill? I find it a helpful learning tool,” Mordred said slyly.  
   
Bran lunged forward, pushing Mordred to the ground so that his head hit it with a dull thump.  
   
Bran wanted to punch him, strangle him, something…to make him feel the pain he himself didn’t like acknowledging. Bran hated thinking about how much of an outsider he was at school, how the boys and girls his age looked at him. How before Will came along, Bran had felt—no…  
   
He didn’t want to think about it.  
   
But before Bran could leave some lasting damage on Mordred, he heard someone choking.  
   
It was Will.  
   
“Hurt me if you want to,” Mordred told him with a twisted smile. “But I doubt you’d want to watch Will choke to death. Though since he’s immortal, it’ll lack dramatic effect, but--,” Still smiling, Mordred put forward a question. He looked far too pleased with himself. “--I wonder: would Will Stanton want a friend who’s willing to watch him die when that friend could stop it? What do _you_ think?”  
   
Bran watched as Will clutched at his throat, gasping for air he couldn’t get. His blue-grey eyes were fixed on Bran. He wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but Bran almost thought he saw accusation in Will’s eyes…accusing Bran.  
   
 _“I can’t lose you,”_ Bran thought earnestly, a hint of desperation seeping into his words.  
   
And it wasn’t about losing Will to death because Will could never truly die.  
   
But something more important to Bran. He couldn’t lose him as a friend. There was no way he would ever allow himself to stand by and watch Will die when he had the chance to prevent it.  
   
“I hate you,” Bran said to Mordred before he moved off of him.  
   
“Why am I not surprised?” Mordred said idly. He lifted the spell he had placed on Will.  
   
Bran ignored Mordred and went to Will’s side. Will was breathing hard, trying to get fresh air back into his lungs. It hadn’t been long ago after all that he had been fatally shot. He was still recovering from that incident and now being nearly choked to death certainly wasn’t helping matters.  
   
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Bran apologized to him.  
   
“It’s all right,” Will said quietly.  
   
“ _No._ I shouldn’t have…please don’t ever think that – I would always choose you, _always_ ,” Bran told him fiercely.  
   
Then he tilted his head and pressed his lips to Will’s. It was a soft kiss, and Bran wasn’t quite sure why he had done it, other than being caught up in the moment, _the_ _need_ to prove to Will that he cared for him.  
   
“Was that--? I wasn’t thinking,” Bran said quickly when Will remained silent.  
   
He smiled at Bran a moment later. “I didn’t mind. I liked it,” Will assured Bran.  
   
“What goes on in that head of yours? I’d love to know,” Bran said coaxingly.  
   
Will shrugged, unwilling to take the bait. Then he leaned toward Bran and whispered to him, “Mordred has gone.”  
   
Bran looked at the spot where Mordred had been. He _had_ disappeared. “When did he go?”  
   
“Shortly after you kissed me, I think,” Will said thoughtfully.  
   
Bran really didn’t want to dwell on what Mordred was planning to do next. What Will thought of Mordred was his business, but it would be a cold day in hell before Bran considered Mordred a good friend.  
   
With that decision made, Bran kissed Will again. This time, Will returned the kiss.   
   
~ * ~  
   
After Arthur had returned to the Sanctuary with Gwen and Lancelot, a female Old One named Tabrett had taken the sword from him. The Old One looked to be in her thirties. She had strawberry blonde hair and her eyes were a light green color that drew you in.  
  
Tabrett had confided in them that despite her young look, she had been born 600 some years ago in Ireland. Despite her birthplace, she had spent considerable time in Australia and New Zealand in her long life on Earth prior to retiring with her fellow Old Ones. That explained her accent as she spoke to them in English.  
   
Tabrett informed the three of them that Excalibur needed to be placed in a room. The room had been made specially to keep the sword protected.  
   
With his sword gone from his side, Arthur began to feel a growing irritation. He recalled a past event that he was half-surprised that he hadn’t re-evaluated already. But now the memory was front and center and Arthur couldn’t stop thinking about it. He remembered the terrible feeling of betrayal when Merlin finally revealed his magic to him. To find out that Merlin had been lying to him all those years. It had hurt and angered him all in one go.  
   
And now, as that feeling of intense frustration was all coming back to him, he held on to that anger as if his life depended on it. Arthur was nearly blinded by it. Something small in the back in his mind warned him that he should be reasonable about this, that this was the Dark at work again…the same entity who had made him believe he was a vampire, that he would hurt even _kill_ Merlin…  
   
…but Arthur didn’t want to listen to reason now, and so the small voice was drowned out.  
   
This was a _legitimate_ problem. Maybe Merlin didn’t remember his past life yet because of the unpleasant feelings of overwhelming guilt and self-blame he would experience when he remembered his past life fully? That Merlin’s mind was intentionally preventing the return of his memories to deny Arthur the satisfaction of rehashing this past conflict of theirs?  
   
It just _wasn’t fair_. He needed to settle this now.  
   
But since he couldn’t find Merlin in his room, Arthur wandered the halls of the Sanctuary looking for him. He ended up in a corridor that he hadn’t been in before.  
   
He was surprised when he saw Merlin come by.  
   
“Hi, Arthur,” Merlin greeted him with a smile. He quickly frowned when he noticed the grim, almost angry look on Arthur’s face.  
   
“Arthur, are you okay?” Merlin asked him.  
   
“You don’t remember yet, do you?”  
   
“No, I’m sorry, but not yet. If I could know what the trigger is…”  
   
“You lied to me all that time about who you were,” Arthur declared, sounding frustrated.  
   
“What?”  
   
“About your magic.”  
   
“Oh,” Merlin only said. He did recall Arthur telling him about the magic ban in Camelot before Arthur became King. How it led magic users like Merlin himself to be extra cautious while in Camelot. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t remember how I felt. I wish I could give you a better answer…why are you bringing this up now? Maybe when I--”  
   
“Maybe the reason why you don’t remember is it’s too much of a pain to deal with the lies, how guilty you must have felt,” Arthur grit out.  
   
“But we must have resolved the problem, didn’t we? We made peace somehow…don’t you remember that as well?” Merlin suggested tentatively, backing away from Arthur a bit.  
   
Arthur’s fists clenched at his sides. Merlin wondered if Arthur was going to punch him.  
   
But then luckily, a man who looked their age passed them by. His presence created an effective distraction. He had dirty blond hair and an inscrutable look in his light eyes. He was on the thin side, possibly from a fast metabolism, but maybe his tall height helped in projected that false illusion of leanness. He wore a white collared shirt with a black and silver horizontally striped silk tie while his trousers were black.   
   
He gave them a cursory glance, muttering something under his breath that was hard to hear, but didn’t sound much like English. The man knocked on a door that was a few doors away from where Arthur and Merlin stood.  
   
Merlin had walked by that particular door. He recalled that the door had golden writing on it as if the words had been applied with golden paint by an expert calligrapher. The words told who the room belonged to:  
   
 ** _Feliks Ossoliński_**  
  
 ** _Rzeczpospolita Polska_**  
  
The unfamiliar man turned to them. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said with a mild Eastern European accent.  
   
Then he changed tact and spoke with an Estuary English accent. The switch startled Arthur and Merlin a bit, to hear the sudden yet smooth transition. “Just don’t kill each other, will you?” He asked of them, his tone a bit careless like he doubted Arthur and Merlin would be crazy enough to kill one another.  
   
Then the man with the dirty blond hair went into the room.  
   
Arthur and Merlin heard the man say inside the room. “I have a bone to pick with you, Feliks. Ah, make that two…or twenty.”  
   
“What is it _now_ , Aleksandr?” Another male voice spoke with a similar Eastern European accent. He sounded impatient, but a bit resigned to the other man’s behavior like it was a common thing.  
   
They couldn’t hear anything more after that. Maybe some type of silencing spell had been placed.  
   
“He had to be an Old One – no question,” Merlin declared self-assuredly. His sparked interest in the unfamiliar Old One made him temporarily forget the argument he had been in the midst of with Arthur. “They know every language, so that must extend to the accents too when it comes to speaking English, at least…”  
   
“Great,” Arthur muttered.  
   
He recalled what the Black Rider had told him about the Old Ones:  
   
 _They are only pretending, slipping into society, blending in, being so painfully normal, that the false sense of security they give you is nothing but that: false._  
   
And one way they accomplish that, Arthur thought darkly, was use their knowledge of every language to gain access to any country. Because that was one of the best ways to blend in, to be so well-versed in a language that people would think the Old One had been a native of that country all along. It gave Arthur an unsettling feeling.  
   
That Old One they had just encountered didn’t even ask who they were. Arthur could tell that he knew their identities without needing to ask. When his discerning gaze had landed upon Arthur, he wondered if the Old One had been unraveling all his secrets without Arthur’s permission.  
   
“Fuck,” Arthur swore out loud.  
   
“Arthur, what--?”  
   
“Just leave me alone, Merlin,” Arthur dismissed him, feeling tired of him and just this whole situation he was in.  
   
Apocalypse or no, the fact of the matter was that it was far from okay to be trapped – as he saw it – in a place full of people who weren’t quite human, superhuman some would see the Old Ones as, but they just carried human faces… they weren’t quite human at all in the first place…  
   
“Listen, Arthur,” Merlin started, bringing Arthur out of his thoughts. “I don’t know why I can’t remember, but you know how much I _do_ want to remember my past life. You’re accusing me of something I can’t even recall! That’s not fair!”  
   
“I remember like it was yesterday. It was _years_ , Merlin,” Arthur emphasized firmly, giving Merlin a withering glare. “Not days, weeks, months, but _years b_ y the time you told me about your magic. Do you know how that made _me_ feel? What a fool you made of me? I who trusted you with my confessions and you had little trust in me to spare. _How is that fair, Merlin?_ Tell me.”  
   
“Arthur…if I could just… _I don’t remember that event!_ ” Merlin exclaimed desperately, trying to get his point across. “I can’t – you’re forcing this issue on me and I can’t properly defend myself. I’m sorry – I know it sounds bad in your view, but everyone makes mistakes, right? I must have had my reasons…there was the magic ban in Camelot like you told me the other day. That had to do with it, right?”  
   
“Then that makes you a coward to use that as an excuse. I called you a true friend, you know…and now I know you aren’t deserving of that title.”  
   
“Arthur, _please_ …” Merlin pleaded with him.  
   
But Arthur was done. He walked away from Merlin.  
   
Merlin looked despondently after him. He needed to talk to someone.  
   
Gwen.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Fortunately Lancelot wasn’t in the room when Merlin came to visit Gwen. He was out taking a walk around the place. Merlin felt that there were just some things that were easier to talk about to a woman versus to another man where you had to worry about not being too sensitive or emotional.  
   
Lancelot was great and all, and sure, he probably wouldn’t make fun of Merlin for anything, but still Merlin just couldn’t help feeling a bit insecure right now.  
   
He wondered what was going on with Arthur. The apologetic behavior, the accidental biting and now, Arthur was suddenly angry at him for an understandable issue, but Merlin didn’t have his memories back. Why couldn’t Arthur be reasonable about it? He had to realize that Merlin couldn’t properly defend his actions when he couldn’t precisely remember why he had chosen to keep his magic secret from Arthur for years.  
   
He himself, without the help of his memories, felt bewildered why he would do such a thing. If he was so close to Arthur why had he not trusted him enough despite Camelot’s magic ban? Wasn’t that a part of being friends with someone? To trust them enough to tell them a secret – especially one as big as his magic that was a big part of his identity?  
   
Well, Merlin could only assume that magic had been rather important to him back in his past life. If anyone had wanted to get a better picture of him as a person, then surely knowing of his magic would have been a good start. He had only regained some of his magic not long ago, so he didn’t personally feel like his possession of magic defined him…yet at least.  
   
Surely at least a year or two years of seeing Arthur on a daily basis -- attending to him as manservant, gaining the prince’s confidence -- would have been long enough for Merlin to summon the courage to tell Arthur the truth about him. But the way Arthur made it sound -- it was certainly more than just two years before Merlin confided in him.  
   
Merlin explained the problem to Gwen and she gave him a sad look.  
   
“You must tell Will about it,” Gwen advised him. “Well, when he returns from wherever he went to with Bran. Something odd is definitely going on with Arthur. He’s not acting like himself. We need to get this resolved.”  
   
Merlin covered his face with his hands, groaning. “I don’t know. Yes, I should tell him, but I would think the Old Ones around here aren’t blind. They must be aware of what’s going on. Living for as long as they have, hundreds even thousands of years… there was an Old One who saw us arguing and he didn’t seem surprised. Just told us not to kill each other and that was it.”  
   
“Maybe it’s important that you and Arthur resolve this issue between you two? The Old Ones could be hoping that the both of you can get through this without intervention. You’ve just had _one_ argument. There’s still opportunity to smooth things over,” Gwen pointed out to him, trying to sound reassuring. “Maybe the next time you talk it out with Arthur, he’ll be more receptive?”  
   
“I’m not sure. I got the feeling that Arthur was not even trying to be reasonable. I’m hoping that some time will give Arthur a chance to calm down. But for him to force an issue that I can’t remember…and now I feel like it’s my fault since my memories haven’t returned yet. That if they had, then I could have a _proper_ conversation with him and could have settled this issue by now. If there was a way to get back my memories, a key to find to unlock a door or something… I feel a bit useless now,” Merlin admitted miserably.  
   
“Oh Merlin,” Gwen said sympathetically. She hugged him.  
   
Then she suggested, “I know your room is next to Arthur’s. If you need to find another room to stay in… I know where there’s a spare room. You need to talk to Feliks about it…”  
   
“Oh, I passed by his room,” Merlin cut in to inform her. “That’s where Arthur and I had our row, not far from his room.”  
   
“Oh good. Then you’ll know where to go. There’s an unoccupied room in the same hallway as Feliks’s room. So if you want that room, you could speak to him about it.”  
   
“Why him?"   
   
Gwen smiled lightly. “I thought Feliks was rather friendly, and it’ll be easiest to talk to him in my opinion.”  
   
“What century is Feliks from?”  
   
Gwen looked at him disbelievingly, as if she was miffed that he hadn’t deduced what that meant. “He was born into a Polish aristocratic family in the 15th century. The family was a rather rich and powerful one – Ossoliński was the surname.”  
   
“Never really considered…” Merlin confessed. “But I suppose Old Ones could be born into wealthy families as well as the opposite.”  
   
“Or somewhere in the middle. I’m thinking there’s no set rule about to whom an Old One is born to…it’s almost as if it’s at random,” Gwen mused. But then she appeared to recall something. “Oh well, I guess you can count Will being ‘a seventh son of a seventh son’ as a sign. That’s definitely something that doesn't happen often. Will told me that his father told him that the family used to joke about it –what with the whole belief that such a person would have special powers – when Will was a baby. But once he got older, they didn’t bring it up in case of Will getting ideas that he had second sight or something like that."  
   
“But how is he the seventh son? There’s one brother missing…”  
   
Gwen frowned. She sighed, shaking her head. “Before Will’s eldest brother, Stephen, there was another brother born…Tom, I believe. The poor child lived for only three days, died due to a lung disease. Will never knew him.”  
   
“I didn’t know. To barely get a chance to live before succumbing to illness…at least Will’s parents had more children after losing their first. It’s a mixed blessing,” Merlin remarked.  
   
Gwen gave him a small smile.  
   
“I’m fine in my room for now,” Merlin decided. “But I’ll take your advice if I need to change rooms. Thanks, Gwen. I really appreciate it.”  
   
“You’re welcome. Come to talk to me any time if you have any more trouble with Arthur.”  
   
Merlin nodded, acquiescing to her request.  
   
~ * ~  
   
The last thing Bran expected was Mordred to appear in the Sanctuary. Bran had returned with Will back to the Sanctuary in reasonably good spirits. That was in large part due to the kiss he had shared with Will in Wales. Because of that, Bran had almost forgotten about the annoyance that was Mordred.  
   
He was walking down a hallway by himself when someone pulled him into a room, shutting the door behind them.  
   
It was Mordred. He covered Bran’s mouth to prevent him yelling out.  
   
Bran narrowed his eyes at him and then bit Mordred’s hand in retaliation.  
   
“Ow,” Mordred said, pulling his hand away and waving it to stem the pain.  
   
“I don’t know how you got here, but you wouldn’t dare try anything here. You know this place is full of Old Ones.”  
   
“I found a magical way in since I’m _so trusted_ now,” Mordred informed him with a smirk. “But sure, you have a point. I better make this quick.”  
   
“Talk to the wall, why don’t you? I don’t care what you have to say. I’m going,” Bran told him firmly.  
   
He went to open the door, but groaned when he discovered that Mordred must have locked the door from the inside.  
   
“I guess you’re staying,” Mordred stated the obvious, his smile overly pleased.  
   
Bran crossed his arms, looking defiantly at him. “What is it? What do you want?” He demanded of him.  
   
Mordred stood in front of him, and much to Bran’s chagrin, he was backed up against the wall. Mordred had him trapped, the bastard. Mordred explained to him, “When I took your blood, I didn’t only use it on the sword.”  
   
Bran simply gave him an impatient look.  
   
Mordred shifted shape and Bran gasped in shock. Mordred now looked like Bran, barring the different clothes.  
   
Bran pushed him, trying to ignore the fact it was incredibly odd to push someone who carried his likeness.  
   
Mordred, for his part, let himself be pushed and kept his distance away from Bran. Bran moved to stand in front of the door – in case the door would open and he could make a quick exit.  
   
“What are you going to do? Steal my identity? You know you can’t fool the Old Ones, especially Will, with the trick. All of them, except for Will of course, have lived for _centuries_ and they’ll see through your illusion,” Bran said confidently, not sounding the least bit uneasy, though inside, he wish he knew Mordred's plan.  
   
“True, I can’t fool the Old Ones. I can’t see them believing me to be the true Pendragon,” Mordred admitted with a shrug. “But, you see, not everyone here is an Old One…some people can be tricked.”  
   
“You mean the Four? Merlin, Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot? Are you really on the side of the Light or looking for an opportunity to create mischief? You just love to amuse yourself at other people’s expense, don’t you?” Bran figured, annoyed at his form of entertainment. “And can you please return to your normal self? The only way I want to look at myself is through a mirror,” he said curtly.  
   
Mordred shifted back to his original form. “I _am_ on the side of the Light. I know the truth of what the Dark has in store for me, and I want nothing to do with them. I rebuilt the mansion – where Excalibur had been placed – and it’s now under my control. Everything about the Dark’s presence that Will felt was an illusion by me.”  
   
“So when Arthur, Gwen and Lancelot went in there to get the sword…they weren’t in any real danger? Is that it?” Bran concluded disbelievingly.  
   
“It wasn’t the Dark’s stronghold, it was mine… well, the mansion _used_ to be the Dark’s stronghold until I took it over. So that’s not completely untrue,” Mordred clarified. “Will’s aware now of what I’ve done with the mansion. I told him through mental communication when we were in Wales. He _knows_ I can be trusted.”  
   
“I don’t know what to make of you,” Bran said frankly.  
   
“Well it’s true even if you believe in it or not. Ask Will if you want to. I’m not worried. But since we’re on the subject...it seems like you’ve taken my words of Will abandoning you into account,” Mordred addressed with a growing smile.  
   
“No I haven’t,” Bran denied fiercely.  
   
“Then how do you explain kissing him and being so interested in keeping him with you? It’s such a shame,” Mordred remarked, pretending to be disappointed. “I was looking forward to a good punch from you, but Will being in danger put an end to my hopes. You’re trying so hard, and yet you don’t see what the future will bring.  
   
“Unlike you, Will can blend in anywhere he wants – his appearance so average, hardly anyone would look at him twice. Sure, he can be a bit strange, but his magic could be hidden, his personality adjusted as necessary. In the end, he _doesn’t need you_. Do you see?  
   
“What makes him strange, he can better conceal; but you… _you were_ _damned_ to stand out by how you look. And there’s nothing you can do to change that. You need him more than he needs you. You have to work twice as hard to make your life bearable. How terrible for you,” Mordred said, not looking that sympathetic at all.  
   
“You don’t know Will. Not like I know him,” Bran countered. His golden eyes flashed – he was not going to back down any time soon.  
   
“But he left you, didn’t he? When you forgot? He dropped contact with you. Will couldn’t stand to see you when you were normal…with no idea of your true heritage. You were just an odd albino boy with an aloof father. That wasn’t enough for Will. Shocking isn’t it that Will is so happy to have you by his side now that you remember again?” Mordred pointed out sarcastically.  
   
“There’s a chance that I’ll keep my memories. It’s in discussion. So your point is moot,” Bran argued, standing his ground and not letting Mordred sway him.  
   
“ _Right._ It’s in _discussion_ ,” Mordred reiterated, rolling his eyes.  
   
Then Mordred rushed him before Bran could form a proper reaction. Mordred pressed his hand against Bran’s forehead, his eyes glowing white as he did the sleeping spell.  
   
Bran’s eyes closed as he succumbed to the fast-working sleeping spell. Mordred cradled Bran’s head so it wouldn’t suffer an unwanted bruise as Bran fell to the ground.  
   
“Sweet dreams,” Mordred wished him, his tone ironic.  
   
He ran his fingers through Bran’s snow-white hair, an odd indulgence, but he quickly let it go. As he said the spell to send Bran away, he watched as Bran disappeared until he was completely gone.  
   
Mordred had decided that Will and Bran needed a break from each other. For a little bit at least.  
   
Their friendship nauseated him.

~ * ~  
   
“No,” Will said when he saw Mordred enter his room. “I have a feeling you want something from me, but my answer is no. You should have left Bran alone. Your fight with him is childish.”  
   
Mordred took a chair and moved it so that it was next to the desk Will was sitting at. He had been in the middle of composing a letter before Mordred had come into the room.  
   
“It’s not my fault that Bran continues to argue with me. It’s our special thing,” Mordred remarked in a mock-sentimental tone to which Will looked at him as if he were mad. “I didn’t send him anywhere dangerous. Actually, I think it’s rather funny where I sent him.”  
   
Will granted him a disbelieving look.  
   
“All right…not for you maybe,” Mordred amended.  
   
“I know you didn’t send him to a dangerous place. Bran would have immediately returned here – cancelling any spell you put on him – if you had endangered him. I know you wouldn't want to risk me casting you out so you could return to playing hide and seek with the Dark.”  
   
“You won’t do that now, won't you?” Mordred asked uncertainly. “It was just a joke…and Bran will return here. I just thought it’d be good to keep you two apart for a little while. In case you get distracted from the apocalypse business with all that kissing…” he commented, smirking.  
   
Will raised his brow. “Barring all else, the safest place for Bran is in the Sanctuary. I want to see for myself that he’s all right.”  
   
“I’m pretty sure he’s still asleep right now. He’s in a room in my mansion. I’ll take you to see Bran when he’s awake. Believe me, he’s not hurt or anything.”  
   
Will still looked at him with disbelief. He closed his eyes and was silent for a long moment.  
   
He opened his eyes and nodded. “I feel him. Bran’s alive and unharmed, it seems. But really, Mordred? You left him with a conjured version of your birth father?”  
   
“Unoriginal, I know. But I thought it was a nice touch of irony,” Mordred remarked, looking smug.  
   
“The Black Rider appears to have affected Arthur in some way…” Will brought up, peering at Mordred carefully. “He’s arguing with Merlin.”  
   
“So?” Mordred asked carelessly.  
   
“Arthur is your father.”  
   
“So says all the Arthurian texts, yeah. But the Black Rider told me Arthur Pendragon raped my mother, so the only thing I want from him is money for being a right bastard. I don’t care if he has issues. He _deserves_ all the crap he gets.”  
   
“You don’t believe that now, do you?” Will guessed shrewdly. “That he did that to your mother?”  
   
“No,” Mordred admitted slowly. “I now believe the Dark is full of shit, but growing up having it ingrained in you that your birth father is the worst sort of man… I can’t just forget that,” Mordred declared with finality in his tone.  
   
Will sighed, looking sadly at Mordred. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.  
   
“I don’t need anyone’s pity,” Mordred said. He changed the subject. “So I’m guessing a conflict between any of the Six weakens the bond of the whole? That they’ll be less able to defeat the Dark when the Time comes? United in love or whatever…something maudlin like that.”  
   
“Yes,” Will acknowledged solemnly. “They’ve only had one big argument. We’re hoping they could resolve it on their own…naturally, but if need be, I’ll have to get Merriman involved. I want to give Arthur and Merlin a chance to figure it out between the two of them.”  
   
“Merlin hasn’t remembered his past life yet? Like a full return?”  
   
Will shook his head. “No.”  
   
“Ha! Well good luck with all that. Merlin better remember soon…can’t have a proper argument if one person has amnesia.”  
   
“Your optimism amazes me,” Will remarked with a weary sigh.  
   
~ * ~  
   
Merlin was a bit surprised and alarmed (considering their fight, it was understandable) when he discovered that Arthur was knocking on his door.  
   
It was _the middle of the night_ , Merlin thought tiredly to himself. Just because Arthur was next door to him didn't give him the excuse to knock on his door, disturbing his sleep, at a ridiculous early morning hour.  
   
When Merlin opened the door, he was also puzzled to see that Arthur looked sad. Had he decided to make amends with him?  
   
Merlin was intrigued, his tiredness a thing of the past as he gave Arthur his full attention.  
   
“Arthur, what is it?” Merlin asked him.  
   
Arthur ran his hand through his blond hair, looking miserable now. “I just – I couldn't wait. I shouldn't have pressured you into talking about an event you didn’t remember. I – you still don’t remember yet, right?” Arthur asked him, hope evident in his voice.  
   
Merlin sighed. He shook his head and moved aside to allow Arthur in. The two of them sat down beside each other on Merlin’s bed. “Trust me, Arthur. When I remember everything, I’ll come running to you and you’ll be the first to know,” Merlin assured him softly. “Are you feeling better now? How you’ve been acting has been worrying me. I know we’re just getting to know each other – well, from my perspective since you remember your past life…but I think you need to talk to a therapist. Or an Old One, I suppose, is more possible considering we’re to remain here.”  
   
“No, I don’t think so,” Arthur disagreed with a hint of disdain in his voice. Merlin wasn’t sure why Arthur was adverse to his suggestion.  
   
Then Arthur caught sight of something – like a tattoo – on Merlin’s forearm.  
   
He grabbed Merlin’s arm to get a closer look at it. It was a symbol. A quarter-cross circle on Merlin’s forearm as if it had been there for a long time.  
   
Arthur didn’t realize he was holding on to Merlin’s forearm so tightly until Merlin spoke up, “Arthur, let go of my arm. It hurts,” he informed him.  
   
Merlin tried to pull his arm away from Arthur, but Arthur didn’t budge. “What is this symbol? Why do you have it?” He demanded of Merlin.  
   
Arthur only strengthened his grip on Merlin’s forearm.  
   
Merlin felt anxious at the now hard look on Arthur’s face. “I didn’t know I had the sign until recently, Arthur. It had been invisible before. But my uncle, my Uncle Stephen that is…he gave it to me when I was a baby. As a symbol of protection. It’s a Sign of the Light…” Merlin explained, growing worried as Arthur’s jaw clenched. He seemed to be on the verge of getting really angry.  
   
“You’ve been brainwashed since before you could think for yourself. Don’t you see? This ‘Sign of the Light’ is making you into one of their pawns. You don’t even question them. There’s no talking to you,” Arthur said in irritation.  
   
“What--?” Merlin uttered, completely taken aback. “I am _not_ brainwashed, Arthur. This is crazy. I don’t know where you’re getting this idea from. The sign _has_ protected me. I didn’t feel the compulsion to join the organ donation programme, for one. You’ve got it wrong. And if you could just not speak badly about it, since it was my uncle’s way of keeping me safe, I’d appreciate it.”  
   
“Your uncle has a dark secret. There’s something wrong with his hands. I don’t know what that is, but I will find out one day,” Arthur declared, his blue eyes glinting with determination. He still kept an uncomfortable hold on Merlin’s forearm.  
   
“What? Please, Arthur. Let go of my arm,” Merlin pleaded with him.  
   
Arthur traced his finger over the quarter crossed circle. “There must be a way to remove this. To cure you of being brainwashed,” Arthur mused.  
   
Merlin’s eyes widened. “No, Arthur. Stop this. You’re not thinking straight. I told you. I’m not brainwashed,” he repeated firmly.  
   
To Merlin’s alarm, Arthur pulled out a dagger. Merlin renewed his efforts to wrench his arm away from Arthur’s maddening grip.  
   
“I could slice it away,” Arthur decided, ignoring Merlin’s struggle as his grip remained solid and strong.  
   
Full of fear, Merlin desperately called on the magic inside of him. He may not have known all the possibilities his magic offered since he just had it returned days ago…but Merlin still trusted his magic to protect him especially in his hour of need.  
   
Arthur pressed the blade of the dagger on the outer part of the symbol. He cut through Merlin’s skin, and blood began to well up and drip down Merlin’s wrist and hand.  
   
“ _Please help me_ ,” Merlin said silently to himself, hoping that would get his magic to aid him.  
   
To Merlin’s relief, he heard the roar of a dragon before he saw the magical creature. Anyone else would have been far from relieved to hear a dragon’s roar, but Merlin had always loved dragons. He found them comforting. He knew that this was his magic coming to save him. The dragon was his savior.  
   
Arthur dropped the dagger, and let go of Merlin’s forearm upon hearing the roar. He turned around, startled, to see a formidably sized black dragon with glowing golden eyes that challenged Arthur to fight the creature.  
   
Merlin’s eyes glowed golden as well, though he himself couldn’t see the change. He felt it though -- the welcoming warmth behind his eyes.  
   
“Leave now, Arthur. Or my dragon will not be so kind to you,” Merlin warned him, his voice surprising him in how confident it sounded. He almost felt like another person as his magic gave him a sense of power that he found both comforting and exhilarating.  
   
The black dragon’s eyes flashed and he breathed out a small fire that singed the floor. Arthur got the message.  
   
“Fine. If it has to be like that,” Arthur said, shrugging it off. He took his dagger and went to leave Merlin’s room.  
   
“Maybe you need some rest, Arthur,” Merlin advised him.  
   
Arthur didn’t deign him with a response. The dragon’s gaze was focused on Arthur until he left the room.  
   
Once Arthur had gone, the dragon looked to Merlin. The creature – a male, Merlin guessed – rubbed his scaly head against Merlin in an affectionate gesture.  
   
Merlin kissed him on the head. “Thank you."  
   
The dragon disappeared, the last thing to go were his golden eyes. But then they too faded away.  
   
Merlin smiled quietly, easily developing a soft spot for the magical dragon.  
   
He went to the bathroom sink to run cold water over his wound to stem the flow of blood.  
Thankfully it wasn't as bad as it could have been if Arthur hadn't been stopped.  
   
After wrapping a clean piece of cloth around his wound, Merlin left the bathroom connected to his room.  
   
He was surprised to find a dark-haired man looking not much older than Merlin himself in his room.  
   
“You’re an Old One?” Merlin figured.  
   
“Too easy, right? Not even worth three guesses,” the man said, sounding a bit disheartened about it. He spoke with an Eastern European accent.  
   
The Old One was of lean build and just under six feet in height. His hair was dark though his eyes were light brown. He wore a dark collared shirt with a red tie over it as well as grey trousers.  
   
“I’m Feliks,” he introduced himself. “I was on patrol, and I’ve made sure Arthur’s returned to his room. He didn’t look terribly happy. I put him into a deep sleep. He shouldn’t trouble you any more tonight. You two had an altercation?” He inquired; looking at the cloth wrapped around Merlin’s wound.  
   
“Yes,” Merlin admitted grimly. “He believes me to be brainwashed. I need to move into a different room.”  
   
"Not a problem. I'll do what I can to help you."    
~ * ~ 

End of Ch. 5. 


End file.
